


The Gaster Portfolio

by Coriander1975



Category: Undertale
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Assassination, Crushes, Cuddles, Dating, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fantasy AU, First Meetings, Fluff, Gaster Needs a Hug, Goopster, Grillster, He's a very sweet and gentle guy but there's an unnerving sense of unreality about him, Human fell is not a nice guy but he's hot & reader is weak for that, Hurt/Comfort, Jock/Nerd pairing, M rating is for violence in chapter 11, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Other, Poor weirdo can't help being spooky, Professor Gaster, Reader Insert, Renaissance AU, Sanster, Sickfic, Slave!Tale, Slightly eldritch gaster, Soul Bond, Soul pregnancy, That tag should be on everything i write, Theatre Nerd Reader, Tumblr Prompt, Underfell, and honestly same, humantale, underfell gaster - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriander1975/pseuds/Coriander1975
Summary: A series of Gaster-centric one shots.Latest chapter:Maybe your time together had shown you his human side, the quirky, fun loving personality behind the cold, killer exterior.Stockholm syndrome might also have something to do with it. A lot to do with it.





	1. [Gaster/Reader] The Best Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster takes care of you when you're not feeling well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an anon ask from Tumblr requesting a gaster/reader sickfic.
> 
> Link-a-rooni to the post ;w;
> 
> http://suck-my-wingdingdong.tumblr.com/post/161422341868/coriander1975-i-wish-you-would-write-a-fic-where
> 
> I take requests! Just send an ask or leave a comment. As long as it involves Gaster, I'm game.

It started with a headache. Nothing awful, just a bit of tension in your skull that served as a minor distraction from your work. You brushed it off, even when it began to worsen into a dull, steady throbbing that made your vision go blurry. Soon enough you found yourself borrowing some advil from the lab medicine cabinet. Next came the fatigue, body aches, and telltale wheezing that all pointed to one terrible outcome: you were getting sick.  
  
But you couldn’t acknowledge this, because then you’d get sent home early, and then _Gaster_ would know. And if Gaster knew, you wouldn’t get anything done for days. Maybe even weeks. The last time you caught a cold, he nearly rushed you to the emergency room out of fear for your life. It’d taken three Wikipedia articles and a call from your doctor to convince him that no, the common cold was not fatal to humans in all but the most extreme cases. This felt like a different illness, though, possibly the flu. He wouldn’t let that one slide so easily.  
  
So you toughed it out, ignoring your shaky hands and dizzy spells, as well as your coworkers’ concerned- and in some cases, disgusted- glances. The latter was likely because your nose had started dripping, and _of course_ the lab didn’t have any tissues on hand. Grimacing, you used your sleeve as a temporary handkerchief, resolving to throw the shirt in the wash the moment you got home.  
  
The thought totally slipped your mind when you finally stumbled through your front door. The house was large, maybe _too_ large for two people and their cats, yet cozy. It smelled of lavender air freshener, dusty old books, and the cologne Gaster wore on special occasions.  
  
This is something you recalled from memory alone, as your head and sinuses felt like they were stuffed with cotton. The congestion forced you to take shallow breaths while you trudged to the kitchen for a glass of water. In a daze, it took you a solid ten seconds to notice that eight feet of lanky, flour stained monster was now blocking your path. His hands fluttered anxiously about your shoulders, not quite touching but ready to offer support as wide, violet eyes fixed themselves on your [e/c] ones. “_____? Sweetheart, what happened? You don’t look well.“  
  
“’M fine,” you muttered, shoving past him towards the sink. You pulled a glass down from the cupboard only to drop it on the floor. “Shit.”  
  
Gaster stilled your hand before it could touch the broken glass. His fingers kept a tight, yet not crushing, hold on your wrist, keeping you a safe distance away while his summoned hands picked up the mess. He mumbled your name again, sounding so frazzled and afraid that you couldn’t help but give him your full attention. “You’ve taken ill, haven’t you?” he asked mournfully, bending down to press his lips to your forehead. “Goodness, you’re burning up! You must be feeling terrible…”  
  
“I told you, I’m-“ You paused when he tore off his baking apron- a hideously pink, lace trimmed thing embroidered with yellow flowers- and tossed it uncermonsiously on the counter. He then scooped you up effortlessly, pulling your body against his chest before scurrying down the hallway. “Wingdings! I can walk on my own!”  
  
“Hush, love. Save your strength.” A floating hand ghosted cold fingers over your cheek in a gentle, loving gesture before you batted it away.  
  
“I’m sick. Not _dying_.”  
  
He looked even more stricken at that, if it were possible. “Heavens, I would hope not! You shouldn’t even joke about such morbid things…”  
  
“Sorry. Guess you’d rather be-”  
  
“_____, please do not.”  
  
“ _Dead serious._ ” You started snickering, which devolved into a coughing fit that left you gasping for breath.  
  
Gaster readjusted his grip to raise your head, trying to keep your airways clear. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and increased his pace. “Not much further now. Just hold on, dearest.”  
  
“Again,” you rasped, “Not dying.”  
  
“You’re certain of that?” He glanced down at you, bundled helplessly in his arms, and his face crumpled into that wide eyed, doleful look that always tugged at your heartstrings. Worry pulled at his lips, deepening the premature wrinkles around his eyes, and suddenly you didn’t have the heart to tease him anymore.  
  
“Okay. Fine. I feel like shit, but it’s nothing serious or damaging. I promise.” When he didn’t look convinced, you let your head flop weakly against his shoulder and sighed. “Please don’t call the hospital this time.”  
  
“Apologies, dear, but I won’t make any promises quite yet.” At last, he reached your shared bedroom. The velvet curtains were drawn, casting the room in a deep burgundy glow and saving you from a light induced headache. More magical hands pulled back the bed’s canopy so Gaster could lay you down and tuck you in snugly. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, hands wringing nervously now that they had nothing to hold. “Should I bring you anything? How do I care for this particular sickness? I-I…I’m rambling, aren’t I?”  
  
Your tired brain struggled to juggle all his questions, focusing in on one at a time. “Yes…uh, some water would be nice…and I think I just need to sleep. And yeah, but you’re cute when you ramble.”  
  
Lavender duster his cheeks as he grinned sheepishly in a quick flash of long, sharp fangs, the lopsided lilt of his mouth sending another flutter through your chest that had nothing to do with the sickness. ‘Cute’ didn’t quite cover it. That dorky smile was something you loved and cherished every time you succeeded in bringing it to life. “Ah…I-I will go get you some water,” he stammered, turning on heel and exiting back the way he came. You heard a faint ‘ow’ as he passed through into the hallway. He must have hit his head on the doorframe. Though he had chosen this house specifically for its higher than usual ceilings, the doorways were still built for people of a more human size.  
  
One would think he’d have learned to duck by this point. But Gaster- literal genius, ex-Royal Scientist, brilliant mathematician and inventor- often struggled with simple, mundane issues that involved things like, say, common sense. He could also be forgetful, awkward, and worrisome to a fault. Sometimes he’d accidentally hug you too tightly, squeezing the breath right out of your lungs, or pick you up for impromptu cuddle time like his own personal teddy bear. When denied something he really _really_ wanted, he’d pout like a child, and he’d thrive on sweets and junk food alone if you weren’t around to make him act like a somewhat decent adult. And in cases like these, where you were in some sort of distress, he’d abandon all rationale and panic as if the world were coming to a halt.  
  
Because _you_ were his world. You loved him so goddamn much that it hurt.  
  
Within minutes, he returned with not only a glass of water but also an armful of extra blankets from the couch. “Are you cold? You looked cold, so I, ah…” Clearing his throat, he abruptly thrust out and arm to hand you your water. “S-sorry.”  
  
“What’re you sorry for?” you asked in amusement, accepting the glass and taking a sip. And then many more rapid sips. You were thirstier than you’d thought.  
  
“Just…in general,” Gaster huffed, seemingly frustrated. “I hate when this happens. I never know what to do! Humans are so…fragile.” You shot him a glare and he quickly rephrased, “Er, delicate. Like flowers.”  
  
“…flowers.”  
  
It was like flipping a switch; you saw his eyes soften as he brought a hand to your cheek. Smooth Gaster Mode had been activated. “And you, my beloved, are the most lovely flower of them all.”  
  
You stared, unconsciously raising an eyebrow. He stared back. His eyes darted away, purple steadily building on his cheeks. The hand at your face curled and started to pull away. “No, no-” You took hold of it and pressed it back into place. “Stay. I just can’t believe you actually _say_ things like that.”  
  
His free hand tugged worriedly at the high collar of his sweater. “It’s, um…that was too ‘corny’, wasn’t it?”  
  
“No, it was just the right amount of corny.” His thumb began brushing softly over your cheek, and you closed your eyes. “You’re cheesy and weird and it’s why I love you.”  
  
He giggled, the sound high and airy compared to his usual rumble of a voice. “Quite a compliment, considering I was a ‘dweeb’ not two days ago.“  
  
“Oh, you’re still a dweeb. A major doofus.” You lightly traced the hole in his palm, delighting in the way his breath hitched and his eyes drifted shut. “ _My_ doofus.” Your eyes began to close as well. “My cinnamon roll…”  
  
He let you keep his hand against your face for a while, absently rubbing the dark circles under your eyes as if he could brush them away. It seemed like you’d fallen asleep until out of nowhere, you hissed, releasing him and pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes. ”_____? W-what’s wrong?!“  
  
“Headache,” you muttered irritably. “Dunno why, but it just got worse.”  
  
“What should I do? You need medicine, right? I’ll go get you something. And soup! Sick humans need soup.” Frantic, Gaster picked up one of the blanket he’d brought and draped it over you and left once again. You waited until he was out of sight before kicking it off. It had been a sweet gesture, but you were already sweltering. Sweat stained your pillow and turned your hair into a stringy mess. Only a minute later, you were cold again, and begrudgingly tossed the blanket back over your legs.  
  
By the time Gaster returned, holding two mugs and a bottle of pills, the room had started to spin before your eyes. “Might wanna bring a bucket,” you wheezed.  
  
“Whatever for?” he asked, coming to a realization seconds later. “Oh. Ah, I don’t believe we have one. Here-” He gingerly adjusted your pillow to prop you into a sitting position, taking great care not to jostle you too sharply. “You should eat something. And I thought some tea might help.”  
  
You accepted the soup, painkillers, and a few sips of the tea, letting Gaster run his fingers through your damp hair, but the vertigo wouldn’t leave. “Fuck. Everything keeps moving and I’m like 99 percent sure I’m gonna throw up if it doesn’t stop.”  
  
Gaster looked lost. He floundered for a minute until his face lit up in a shy, hesitant smile. “Perhaps if you lie down and, ah…I could…”  
  
“Cuddle me?”  
  
“It m-might not help, b-but I thought- well it seems to make you feel better when- ah-”  
  
You snorted. “C'mere, dork. Actually-” With slow, cautious movements, you lowered yourself onto your side, leaving room in front of you on the mattress. “Okay. _Now_ come here.”  
  
In seconds, he had occupied the vacant space and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin. He blocked out everything, leaving nothing to see but the knitted white threads of his sweater. They were soft beneath your fingers as you traced a pattern down past his throat, over each bony rib and the dip leading down to his abdomen. You focused on the familiar, inhuman shape of his odd body against yours. Rail thin, bony, full of sharp angles and hollows where there should be softness. Your hand reached up to his face and brushed cool, taut skin, the rougher texture of his scars, and you felt more than heard the pleased hum that vibrated through his chest.  
  
The dizziness began to recede; the pain almost entirely gone. “Thanks, Cinny. This is helping.”  
  
Helping _both_ of you, if the enraptured look on his face was anything to go by. He’d needed this as much as you did. “I’m very happy to hear that, my love.”  
  
Growing sleepy, you managed a grunt in reply. He was just warm enough to be comfortable, and his long fingers had started scratching your scalp in that spot he knew you liked. Amethyst eyes remained fixed on your face as you drifted off to sleep. Only once you’d gone still did he exhale from the very bottom of his being, finally relieved. He’d tried his very best not to overreact this time. It had taken immeasurable effort to stay calm, to listen to your directions and trust that you’d be okay.  
  
And you were. Here you lay, cozy and safe, but still pale enough for concern. He was going to pamper the heck out of you in the days to come.  
  
And for the rest of your life, if you’d let him.


	2. [Sanster] Bandaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet of post-Void life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from @rag--tag: I WANna see you write a sanster thing where sans gets gaster out of the void somehow and it’s really emotional. they end up happy tho bcus they have eachother again

Gaster spoke today. It wasn’t much, only a word; but it was progress, and progress is good.   
  
Every light was on in the house, because Gaster hated the dark. The thermostat was turned up to a toasty 75 degrees, because Gaster couldn’t stand being cold. An oversized pillow was seated on his lap, being squeezed so tightly that the fabric nearly tore, because Gaster needed something to cling to, a firm reminder that this is real, he’s finally home.  
  
In the kitchen, Sans methodically scrubbed dried tomato paste from every dish they owned, cleaning the residue from his brother’s latest cooking lesson. The home’s newest resident had offered to help, but Sans refused, insisting that Gaster needed to relax. The poor guy had already exhausted himself by trying to use magic that morning. It proved disastrous- both for himself, and his temporary bedroom. Hearing the explosion, Sans had bolted down the hallway to find Wingdings in a heap, holding his scorched hands to his chest and weeping silently.   
  
Sans knew he felt useless. Broken. His soul- once silver, shiny and whole like any other monster’s- was faded into a dull grey, run through with cracks and missing far too many pieces. It looked ready to fall apart at any moment.   
  
So it came as no surprise that the ex Royal Scientist had tried to summon his ‘bullets’- dark mauve, floating hands- for the first time since leaving the Void. ‘Just for practice,’ Gaster had said, since ‘It used to be so easy.’   
  
He thought he might never recover. And maybe he was right, though Sans cursed himself for admitting it. There was no telling if Gaster’s soul could ever regain its old strength, or if he’d ever stop having nightmares, jumping at the slightest sounds, bursting into panicked tears for no reason at all…or worst of all, briefly forgetting who he was. Who  _Sans_  was. It’d broken his heart when after years of failed attempts, he’d finally delved into the Void only to find that Wingdings was not the same monster he once knew.   
  
His body was twisted, malformed. It was barely visible in the darkness, but Sans could see that it was nowhere close to the tall, lanky form he’d been expecting. His face still held the same basic features- round eyes, one whole, one slouched, yet without the gorgeous violet irises Sans used to get lost in. A smiling mouth filled with sharp teeth, particularly two long fangs that had once been adorable, but now looked dangerous. His scars had lengthened. The right one had extended itself to the corner of his mouth, while the left crept over his brow and towards the back of his scalp. As Sans approached, pinpricks of white appeared in those soulless eyes, and for the first time in his life he was legitimately terrified of his soulmate.   
  
It wasn’t until he noticed the black droplets running down that mask-like face that he realized Gaster was afraid too.   
  
Though their initial reunion was painful and frightening for the both of them, Gaster’s expression the moment he stepped back into existence was a memory Sans would treasure for life. He’d never seen anyone so grateful just to be alive.   
  
Sans had held him while he wailed, his hoarse sobs echoing through the caverns, as he slowly accepted the fact that he was free, that  _Sans_  had been the one to save him.   
  
He couldn’t talk yet, and whether that was due to damaged vocal cords or a fractured psyche was unclear. His mannerisms had changed, becoming more nervous and odd. He worried that Sans would be put off by the changes, but soon came to learn that none of it mattered. Not when he finally had a future. When  _they_  had a future.   
  
Distracted by the pleasant thoughts, Sans yelped in surprise when the kitchen knife he’d been scrubbing sliced through his phalanx. The blade slipped into the sink with a soft  _plop_  as he assessed the damage. Only a small cut, nothing major.   
  
Still, he braced himself. Not a moment later he heard quiet shuffling, and turned to see Gaster taking up the entire doorway to the living room. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. Sans had a sudden vision of his mentor, turned friend, turned lover decked out in glitter and spandex, a vision that proved to be both hilarious and mildly attractive.  _My hero,_  he thought dryly, failing to hold back a snort.   
  
Mistaking this as a sound of pain, Gaster rushed forward, almost stumbling over his own two feet. Having legs again was odd, apparently. He’d been without them for so long that walking now took conscious effort. Sans willed himself not to laugh again, and succeeded after remembering how embarrassed Gaster looked every time he tripped or fell.   
  
That was when he spoke, startling the both of them. “Sans!”   
  
It wasn’t a word so much as a wheeze, but Sans had never been so happy to hear his own name. Gaster blinked, clearly shocked, but quickly shook it off and began signing in Wingdings.  _“You’re hurt.”_  
  
“Just a scratch, Dings,” Sans insisted, waving him off.   
  
“Sans.” His tone was different this time- Sans recognized it from back in the day, whenever he did something dangerous in the lab. It was Gaster’s ‘teacher’ voice, the one that could say ‘I’m not angry but I am very disappointed’ with a single word.   
  
“Seriously, I’m fine. Look.” Sans held up the injured hand and immediately regretted it. Tiny puffs of dust were leaking from the wound in place of blood.   
  
“Sans…” This was the worst one yet. He sounded worried, and  _sad_. The last thing Gaster needed right now was more sadness. He cradled Sans’ hand, so teensy against his own, his face crumpling into a pout. He gave it a light tug, signing with his free hand.  _“Come with me.”_  
  
There was no use resisting. Resigned to his fate, Sans sighed and let Gaster drag him along to the bathroom. Gaster dug through the cabinet and procured a box of Hello Kitty bandaids- technically Papyrus’, but he surely wouldn’t mind sharing- and wrapped one securely around Sans’ finger. He gave it another once over and smiled, apparently satisfied.   
  
Well, almost. It took him a few moments of fidgeting, blushing, and avoiding eye contact until Gaster finally gathered up the courage to brush a light kiss over the bandaged cut. And immediately hid his bright purple face against Sans’ shoulder.   
  
Just like old times. Sans patted his back, happy to see that Gaster was still the same flustered dork he’d always been.   
  
“Sans?”   
  
“Yeah?” As great as this new development was, Sans started to wish that Gaster would give his voice a break before he strained himself.  
  
Gaster raised his head to look him straight in the eyes, a faint lavender dusted across his his cheeks, and managed to put together a full sentence. “I love you.”  
  
Well if he was going to say things like  _that_ , maybe he should keep talking. “Love you too, Dingus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I take prompt requests. The ships I'll write for are Gaster/Reader, Grillster, Sanster, and Kingdings. Prompts don't have to be shippy though ^^


	3. [Grillster] Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby knows best, though Gaster will never admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from an anon: I have a grillsrer prompt so basiacally gaster is working himself down to the bone (lol) and is refusing to eat or sleep and at this point grillby will do anything to make that happen so he goes down to the lab and drags gaster out forcefully to the restaurant. They go into the back room so as not to embarrass poor faster further and grillbs is just trying to get him to eat. But of course faster is pissed and doesn't want to. Mid argument, grill by just shoves food into his mouth. Then he sleeps

The first thing Grillby noticed upon entering the Lab was a trail of crumpled papers. It led him towards the main office, where he picked up on another crucial detail: the faint crackle of radio static. This meant that Gaster was so engrossed in his work, he’d failed to notice the music had stopped. Neither were a good sign.  
  
Finally, a string of low, muttered curses and a frustrated sigh from the other room spurred him forward. Wingdings was doing the Thing again. The Thing he always did after starting a new project, inevitably requiring an intervention from Grillby. Or, in extreme cases, King Asgore himself.  
  
Hopefully, Grillby had caught him early enough this time. His flames flickered brighter as he entered, casting an orange glow on a pair of narrow shoulders, a white and slightly stained lab coat, and the goggles strapped to the top of the scientist’s head. A spark flew from the machinery before him, and Gaster swore again in Wingdings. “Blasted piece of _rubbish_ …need to adjust the output…” He gave the hunk of metal a light slap as if chastising it. “Behave, now, or I’ll take a blowtorch to you!”  
  
“I don’t think…that’s healthy…”  
  
Gaster froze. He squinted at his creation, brow scrunching. “Ah…what?”  
  
“Talking…to objects…makes you look…” Grillby paused, searching for a tactful conclusion, and found none. “Like a lunatic.”  
  
Gaster hopped to his full height, twirling to face the doorway. He swayed, and for one heart-stopping moment Grillby feared he might topple right over. It was likely the first time he’d moved in hours. “Grillby! I didn’t see you there!” His face now fully visible, it was impossible to miss the dark circles under his eyes, or the way all his features seemed to droop dejectedly. Even Grillby’s warm glow couldn’t mask the unusually blue pallor Gaster’s skin had taken.  
  
Crossing his arms, the bartender did his best to look imposing. Some of the intended effect was lost since he had to crane his neck just to make eye contact. “You need…a _break_.”  
  
Humming in thought, Gaster considered what he mistook as a request until at last he tapped his claws together decisively and answered, “No.”  
  
“ _Yes._ ”  
  
“Grillbert Blaise Pyre.” He must be getting angry; Gaster _very_ rarely used Grillby’s full name. “I’m working on something extraordinary- life changing, perhaps! I could not possibly-”  
  
“I made donuts.”  
  
“Abandon…my…I-I’m sorry, donuts?“  
  
“Yes.”  
  
At first, it seemed as though Grillby had won. Gaster was practically bouncing in place at the prospect of something deep fried and covered in chocolate…until he regained his composure and sniffed derisively. “I don’t want any.”  
  
Grillby reached deep into his soul and pulled the most hurt expression he could manage. Which was pretty impressive, considering he didn’t have a face. “Wow. I thought you liked…my cooking…”  
  
Gaster couldn’t look any more horrified if he tried. “I wasn’t- oh, dearest, I would n-never-!” Riling him up was just too easy. Something in Grillby’s countenance must have cracked, because the flustered scientist broke off with a huff. “You…you’re trying to distract me.”  
  
Grillby shrugged.  
  
“Well it won’t work! Now…now go. I need to focus.” His lab coat flared as he spun back to face his project, busying himself with an open panel on its side.  
  
Grillby was having none of it. He was disappointed in his failure- even on the worst of days, Wingdings could _never_ resist sweets- and more than a bit peeved at being dismissed. On to Plan B, then.  
  
Humming tunelessly, the bartender rolled his shirt sleeves past his elbows, grasped Gaster by the arm, and hauled him bodily towards the exit.  
  
Gaster sputtered indignantly at the rough treatment. His struggles were weak, prompting Grillby to pull harder. A healthy, well rested Wingdings could sweep Grillby off the ground, no sweat. He must be exhausted. “What on earth are you-?!”  
  
“We…are going home. And you…” Grillby cast a withering glare in the fuming monster’s direction. “Are going to rest. After…a proper meal.”  
  
The two stepped out of the Lab and into the harsh heat outside. Gaster glared sullenly at the magma to their right. “I was promised donuts.”  
  
“I lied,“ Grillby sighed.  
  
By the look on his face, one might think Gaster had just found out Christmas was cancelled. “Wh-what…?”  
  
“There are no donuts.”  
  
“You scoundrel!” Wingdings struggled to pull free again, though Grillby was met with even less resistance than before. In fact, the further they ventured through Hotland, the more sluggish the scientist became. It wouldn’t be long before he ran out of energy completely.  
  
They made it to Snowdin- and eventually, the bar- in relative silence. Gaster, as much as he tried to hide it, was barely holding on to consciousness. His wobbly gait drew the attention of a few customers. They watched, some in concern and others holding back giggles. He followed Grillby to the kitchen, where he promptly hopped up on a counter.  
  
Grillby winced. He’d just cleaned that counter not three hours ago, and he didn’t even _want_ to know what sort of chemicals Gaster’s lab coat was contaminating it with. “…we have chairs, you know.“  
  
“For short people, maybe. They hurt my back."

The bartender's crackling flames seemed to sigh. He swiped a basket of fries- prepared in advance for this very occasion- from the stove and shoved them in Gaster’s hands. “Eat something…then sleep.”  
  
“I’m not hungry.” His eyes said otherwise, as Gaster stared at the fries with obvious longing.  
  
“Dings…you’re fooling no one. You’re a slut…for junk food.”  
  
Just as planned, Gaster opened his mouth to argue. Grillby took advantage of the opening to shove a couple of fries between his teeth.  
  
It wasn’t long before Gaster began nibbling at them, soon tearing into the rest of the basket. “They’re no donuts, but…oh heavens, you’re such a wonderful cook.”  
  
The praise, though spoken through a mouthful of potato, made Grillby’s soul flutter a little faster. “I know.”  
  
Once finished, Gaster hopped back on the floor and not so subtly shuffled towards the fridge.  
  
“Wingdings. No ice cream…right now.”  
  
“But-!”  
  
“Sugar…will keep you up. Go to bed.”  
  
Throwing his hands up in defeat, the harried scientist finally took an order without resistance. There was some grumbling, and he definitely took his time, but at long last he trudged up the stairs to their shared bedroom. If Grillby knew him at all- and good lord, did he ever- it would be well over ten hours before he saw Gaster again.  
  
Which was exactly how it should be. The damn fool needed his rest.


	4. Doubt [Goopster/OC]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River had swept him off his feet- metaphorically speaking, as he had none- and into their arms, whisking him off to a world of expensive dinners, playful words, and heartstopping kisses. Like something straight out of a romance novel.
> 
> So why did it feel too good to be true?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title: goopster gets a sugar daddy

"Do you like the salmon?"

The question startled Gaster from his thoughts. He loved the salmon, actually. It was incredible. Perfectly seared, dusted with crushed walnuts and glazed in a savory honey butter sauce.

He'd picked at it all evening, barely eating a bite.

Forcing a smile, he met River's storm-cloud eyes across the table. "It's wonderful, dear. I'm just..."

The longer he hesitated, the more their face fell, and Gaster immediately regretted saying anything at all. "I can have them bring something else," they offered, eager as ever to please. It only made him feel guiltier.

"No!" The monster winced at the volume of his own voice, taking a breath before starting again. "It's...not the food. I swear, it's delicious- as always!"

"Wingdings," they sighed, placing their hand over his and bringing it to their lips. They kissed each knuckle with such delicate reverence that Gaster could swear his soul was about to combust. "What's wrong?"

Nothing. The restaurant was empty, rented out entirely for their date. Every dish was delectable, candlelight cast the room in a romantic glow, and a mellow piano melody set the mood. Everything was perfect.  _That_ was the problem.

River Lagrange came dashing into his life four months ago, at a posh art expo in downtown Ebott. Gaster had come at Asgore's request- despite the fact that he hated large crowds, they made him so terribly anxious. The poor goop had spent most of the event keeping to corners, trying in vain to stay out of sight under the gallery's harsh white lights. He felt exposed, on the verge of terrified, because he just _knew_ people would stare. They always did.

And sure enough, he'd attracted some attention as his form began to 'sweat'. It always happened when he got nervous. Gaster nearly swooned in horror to see pieces of void matter slough off like melted candlewax and begin coagulating on the pristine floors. When some of the other attendees began whispering, even _pointing_ , his soul dropped. He'd deny it later on, whenever his beloved brought up the story of their meeting, but anyone could see that he'd been mere seconds away from bursting into tears.

It was at that moment his savior arrived. Stunning and statuesque, they floated into the gallery with all the grace of a queen. Sculpted cheekbones, a strong jawline, arched brows, waves of wild dark hair falling like a mane about their angled face; they caught the eyes of everyone in the vicinity, Gaster included. He was given the impression of a member of the fae folk, from long ago before the war had forced them into hiding. Not beneath a mountain, as was the fate of monsters, but away to murky forests and seaside cliffs where the humans didn't dare go. Gaster wondered if there were one in this stranger's ancestry. How else could he explain how their grey eyes sparkled with energy, or the way they moved silently, their black cloak grazing the floor without a whisper. He couldn't help but stare.

It was with dawning horror that he realized they were staring, too. His eyes flicked away anxiously, then back, pupils shrinking to see the newcomer walking straight towards him. _They're going to kick me out,_ he thought, _I'm making a mess and I'm disgusting and an eyesore and they're going to-_

Their voice was soft like summer wind. They ducked their head and spoke lowly, to him and him alone. A lock of their hair brushed his cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Uh. I'm." Those cloud colored irises were fixed on his face, which was surely tinted a dark grey. "I-I, um. Hello."

The stranger smiled, and Gaster was suddenly very okay. Everything was wonderful. How couldn't it be, when something so radiant was right there in front of him?

"Hi. What's your name?"

"G-G- er, W-Wingdings. Gaster."

This time they laughed, like chiming bells, and oh. Oh, dear Asgore he was going to have a heart attack. "Which is it? Wingdings, or Gaster?"

"Ah. Either. Is f-fine."

"Well, I like Wingdings. It's kinda cute." They paused, eyes averting shyly. "Is it too soon to say that I think you're cute? I hope not. You really are."

Gaster's brain was no longer in service. Somehow the idea that this gorgeous, otherworldly human had not only acknowledged him as an equal, but _complimented_ him- _flirted_ with him?- would not compute.

His face must have said it all. They only smiled again and offered a hand. "I'm River. It's nice to meet you, Wingdings."

He shook it gingerly, soul fluttering at the contact. Though they wore gloves, there was a noticeable warmth seeping through the fabric. "I'm- ah. I already. Told you my name. Sorry."

"Oh, it's fine. I wouldn't mind hearing it again. Wingdings..." They rolled the sounds on their tongue in an accent he couldn't quite place, light yet musical in its timbre. "I love it! Absolutely adorable."

Gods. They were serious, weren't they? His form wobbled, threatening to give out entirely. Of all the times to destabilize, why now?!

River took notice of the puddling by their feet. Before Gaster could apologize, they swept off their velvet cloak and wrapped it snugly around the approximation of his shoulders. The royal blue suit they wore beneath was just as grand, yet tighter, showing a hint of lean muscles that Gaster tried his very best not to ogle.

"Oh-! Oh, oh dear, you musn't, I'll get it all m-messy-"

"Eh, it's fine. I've got more." River shrugged, still smiling sweetly. "I thought it might make you more comfortable."

It certainly did. The garment smelled of cinnamon, cloves, and dried roses. Gaster strongly resisted the urge to throw the whole thing over his head and make a blanket nest out of it. He gazed up at River- as they were a fair bit taller, especially with his bottom half all goopified- and bit his lower lip to keep from bawling. "Th-thank you. Truly."

"Don't mention it. So, Wingdings. Tell me more about yourself?"

Things had only escalated from there. As their demeanor had implied, River possessed a fair amount of wealth. They used every bit they could to treat their new sweetheart with anything he desired. No matter how much he insisted that he didn't _need_ a five thousand dollar telescope, they'd seen him gawking at it in a display window and took it upon themselves to purchase it. Nor did he need the custom tailored suits- fitted to accomadate his shifting form- or hundreds of science and history books, but the awed look on his face when he opened each package prompted River to buy them anyway.

Sometimes they wondered if he'd ever been given a gift before, with how much he blushed, hugged, and thanked them every time. It only hardened their resolve to give him more. He didn't need anything but their love, and they knew it. Everything else was just a bonus.

And yet, Gaster had doubts. River had swept him off his feet- metaphorically speaking, as he had none- and into their arms, whisking him off to a world of expensive dinners, playful words, and heartstopping kisses. Like something straight out of a romance novel.

So why did it feel too good to be true? Why would someone so beautiful and accomplished, who could steal the hearts of just about anyone they encountered, choose _him_? Why did they think he was _cute_ within moments of meeting, whereas most humans recoiled in disgust?

Was it a joke? Something fun to bide their time?

No, he shouldn't think like that. He trusted them with all his heart. They were genuine and kind, definitely not that kind of person.

Yet he just couldn't get it. _Why?_

"What...?"

"Why, River. Why...me." Unable to meet their eyes, Gaster tilted his head down in embarrassment. "I just don't understand why you...like me. I'm not...y-you could do so much better than-"

"Wingdings."

He had to look up, then, because the sorrow in their voice was just too painful to handle. Their face was worse- he'd never seen them look so distraught, and it broke his heart. "Do I not make you happy?"

Gasping in horror, Gaster quickly shook his head, squeezing their hand in a desperate grip. "You do! Gods, you make me happier than I've ever been. I-I didn't mean-"

Their relief was palpable; he could practically feel the tension draining from their shoulders through their tightly woven hands. "You make me happy too. I couldn't do better, because you're the very best there is. You're kind, sweet, gentle, not to mention the absolute _cutest_ person I've ever laid eyes on-"

Poor Gaster was sputtering and gaping like a fish out of water.

"So handsome, too. And before you say it, I _like_ the goop. Is that weird? Probably! But you're just so... _soft_. Really cuddly too, I love that. And very easy to fluster." They rested their cheek on the hand which wasn't wrapped around his. "You're blushing, you know."

"Ah. Yes. Probably."

"Oh, it's definitely there." Their teasing grin softened, and for a fleeting moment worry tugged at the edges. "Feeling better now?"

Their thumb rubbed over his. Gaster allowed himself to close his eyes and indulge in the sensation. "Yes. Very much."

"Good. You don't ever have to doubt, okay? I picked you for a reason." They smiled brightly once again, like the sun peeking from behind dark clouds. "Ha. Maybe we're soul mates."

There could be more truth to that statement than they realized. His soul was certainly reacting in a way unlike ever before, twisting madly, as if trying to pull in River's direction. "Ah...yes. Maybe we are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain: write something with actual plot
> 
> Me: hhhhhhhfluff


	5. A Series of Firsts - First Impressions [Gaster/Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are hard to erase- but not impossible.

It- _he_ pressed an ice pack to his swollen eye. Dust puffed softly down the side of his face, sprinkling on the floor. You suddenly approved of the school's decision to go with hardwood instead of carpet.

The monster watched it fall dolefully, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips before fading away. His fingers trembled around the washcloth that held the ice. He was scared. You were scared. Anyone could sense the tension in the space between you- all ten feet of it. Even that distance didnt feel like enough.

"What's your name?"

You couldn't help but jump at the sound of his voice; deep and dark, like crunching a handful of gravel, an animalistic snarl put into words. And yet, his tone made it gentle. He spoke like a grandfather, kindly and quietly. You answered his question. 

He smiled, a wicked row of shark-like teeth glinting from that crooked mouth. You winced, and he pretended not to notice. "Mine's Gaster. Ah, Wingdings Gaster, but just Gaster is fine."

"Okay. Just Gaster."

The joke fell flat, in your opinion, but he laughed anyway. This only bared his fangs more clearly. His injury cut it short, thankfully, and he quickly replaced the ice pack. It must have really hurt when you smacked him in the face with a folding chair.

Which was totally an accident. For the most part. You'd been setting up the auditorium for the next show- the spotlight was never your style, but stage crew suited you just fine- and turned to find an eight foot monstrosity where there had once been nothing but air. That moment was now burned clearly into your memories. He was gaunt and unnaturally thin, his face like a skull stretched with latex, showing every dip and hollow in the bone under deathly white skin. One clawed hand was extended towards you, reaching for your shoulder. The eyes were what really sold it. Jet black, save for a fearful pinprick of violet in the center of each inky abyss. He was humanoid, and yet _not_. You wanted to believe it was just one of the performers in costume, but then he _spoke_ , and the mouth moved so naturally-

So you did what any sensible person would do when faced with a thing that should not be. You gripped the metal chair with both hands and swung like a wrestler in the ring, hitting _Professor_ Gaster straight in the face. Who knew that the university's new physics teacher would be a monster? And a creepy one at that. The monsters you'd met so far were different, but harmless. Some giant dogs, a slime creature, beings made of fire or water or straight up talking rocks. Some were pretty, even cute.

Gaster, however, was a demon. A ghoulish, eldritch nightmare straight out of a horror movie. One with a good budget. Where the unsuspecting theatre club kid gets jumped and eaten alive, or possessed, or-

No, no. That was just mean. Because despite his appearance, he was nice. _Too_ nice. Maybe it was an act to keep you from hurting him again, but it did strike you as odd that the first thing he'd done after the hit was to apologize for scaring you. Even as his face began to bruise and dust flaked off in chunks, he continued to speak calmly, staring at you with what looked like sincere concern. He asked if you were okay, and you nodded somewhat frantically. He asked you to put down the chair, and you did. Reluctantly. The whole ordeal didn't seem to surprise him as much as it should. Maybe it wasn't the first time he'd been attacked for no reason. 

For the billionth time, you were struck with a pang of guilt. Yeah, you'd given him the ice pack and some aspirin, but that didn't stop the trembling in his hands, or the nervous looks he kept casting when he thought you weren't paying attention. He was more afraid of you then you were of- well, no, that wasn't true. You were still pretty damn scared.

"Should I get the nurse?" you offered.

"Um...no, I think I'm-" He tried to stand, his eyes fluttered closed, and for one heart stopping moment you feared you'd have to catch him. But he steadied himself against the wall and sucked in a shuddering breath. "I'm fine. Sorry. I-I just stood up too quickly."

Nerves be damned, you couldn't just sit here and watch him suffer. You steeled yourself and rushed to his side. Gaster was very warm and bony as you gingerly wrapped an arm around his waist in support. He jumped a little at your touch. "Oh! Y-you don't have to-"

"It's alright." It really wasn't. Your fight or flight response was in overdrive, and it took everything you had not to give him another whack out of pure adrenaline and fear. Not that you _wanted_ to hurt him again, but his face was just-

So you didn't look, instead keeping your eyes on the floor. Gaster was breathing heavily, and allowed himself to lean on you a little.

"Thank you." He sounded almost awed at the show of kindness. Your guilt somehow got worse. 

"Don't mention it." You guided him out into the hall, letting him direct you to his room. Fortunately, the teacher's wing was fairly close, and you avoided running into anyone on the way there. Pretty lucky, considering you didn't want to get expelled for almost killing one of the faculty members. Something told you that Gaster would find a way to save your ass, whether you deserved it or not. Maybe he wouldn't tell anyone about this incident at all. You'd ask later, when he wasn't gasping for breath and using you as a living crutch.

Once you reached the door, Gaster fumbled in his coat pocket for the key. He slid it into the lock with clumsy hands and, finally, left your side to go collapse on his couch. You stood awkwardly in the doorway. "So...are you gonna be okay?"

"Yes, yes." He smiled weakly. "I'm afraid you- ah, the...the hit did quite a lot of HP damage, but it's nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. Don't trouble yourself any further."

"Okay." You considered leaving, sighed, and decided against it. "Are you sure? I mean, is there anything I could do?"

His expression softened, his smile strengthening. "I'm certain. But thank you, dear. You've been very kind."

"I hit you. In the face."

"Accidents happen."

"How are you not angry about this."

He shrugged. "It was my own fault for frightening you."

"You're _insane_." It slipped out before you could stop it, and you silently cursed your loose tongue.

Gaster _giggled_. "You are not the first to say so. Go on now, finish setting up for the show. I will see you on Monday."

See you on-? Oh. Oh god.

He seemed to realize what you were thinking. "You said your name is _____, correct? You signed up for my class this semester." The light purple bruise spreading up his sharp cheekbones crinkled as he smiled kindly. "I look forward to seeing you there. Perhaps we could start anew?"

You suppressed the urge to groan and nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Let's just pretend all of today didn't happen."

"That works for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me more truly monstrous Gaster. The kind of Gaster that if you saw him in a dark hallway you'd go screaming and running for your life. Except he's still an anxious sweetheart who just needs hugs. That's the best Gaster imo.


	6. Close Call [Sanster]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is a process. A long, agonizing process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a request from tumblr user @itsrainingsomewhereelse. Contains post-pacifist Sanster hurt/comfort and fluff. Quick warning for unreality, dissociation, and generally weird/unsettling content.

Gaster put the coffee pot on the stove, poured two bowls of cereal, and threw open every window in the kitchen. Chilled, early morning air swept across the room and made him shiver. Outside the sky was streaked in pink, orange, yellow, and a tint of green before sweeping up into a vibrant blue. The sun hadn't risen yet, only a thin sliver of rosy light betraying its location behind the distant hills.

It was a charmed life, since coming to the surface. Gaster smiled distantly while stirring six teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. He'd reuinted with all his friends, found a job at a local lab, and moved in with the love of his life- who would not be getting out of bed anytime soon. But Gaster was content to wait, sitting and eating dry fruit loops as the sky slowly brightened outside. 

Something shifted in his expression for half a second, suggesting pain, and he placed a hand over his chest. His soul again. He eyed the half-empty prescription pill by the refrigerator and decided against it. Not worth the side effects, not unless the symptoms worsened.

There was always that nasty little aspect. Everything _would_ be perfect, if not for his condition. But as his dearest friends liked to remind him, recovery is a process. A long, agonizing process. No one would expect him to bounce back from what was essentially a near death experience without a few new quirks.

Children were laughing outside, playing in the street, no doubt. What a joy it must be to have children, Gaster thought, sighing wistfully. He couldn't wait to have some of his own someday. His mother smiled in agreement across the table, which was odd since she'd been dead for twenty two years.

Another pinprick stabbed at his soul. Wrapping his long fingers around the mug to steal its warmth, because the breeze from the window was beginning to chill his old bones, Gaster took three deep breaths; in, and out. No reason to worry.

It wasn't children's laughter, only _a_ child, their tinny shrieks of joy stabbing through the kitchen.

The light ache turned into a dull throbbing, increasing in intensity with each beat of his soul. His coffee cup flew from his fingers and splattered, painting blotches of red- red, when did it turn red?- across the tablecloth. He stood, too quickly, and scuttled towards the bottle of pills. Not quickly enough.

Somewhere along the way, his head met cold tile, and something in his arm seemed to snap. Brittle, useless body, always trying to fall apart at the slightest touch-

It didn't hurt. Not in a tangible way, but from a distance. Was he dreaming? Maybe he'd never gotten out of bed. Maybe he'd open his eyes to see Sans with his mouth hanging open, drooling all over their pillows, and hear that cute little snore. 

He laughed, then gasped, then cried out for help. His soul fell to pieces. He whimpered in pain and fear, or maybe it was a scream, because suddenly a face was above him. Sans- gods, poor Sans was shouting something, but Gaster couldn't make out a word of it. There was only the splitting, splintering, molten twisting inside his chest as he was pulled from consciousness.

Something cold and wet dripped down his face, and Gaster shot forward in eerie silence. His mouth was gaping like a fish, pupils shrunk and gazing vacantly at nothing. Sans snapped his fingers in front of his face, and it was then Gaster realized he'd been talking.

"dings? look at me. please- i swear to fuck, if you don't look at me right now i'm calling an ambulance-"

Gaster forced his eyes in Sans' general direction. Apparently that was enough, as the skeleton relaxed visibly. He was shaking, om the verge of panic with that wide smile of his frozen in place. "hey, hey...it's alright. you're alright now."

Gaster wasn't sure which of them he was talking to. He jerked his head from side to side as his eyes filled with tears. "Sans. I-I can't. Can't feel my legs."

"s'alright. that happened last time too, remember? it'll wear off." He lifted a hand to Gaster's cheek, cupping it like he always did when things felt dark and unsure. "just focus on your breathing. like the doctor said."

Gaster closed his eyes and did as he was told. When he opened them, the room seemed to spin, but Sans had been right. He gingerly lifted one leg, then the other, feeling extraordinary grateful that he had the limbs at all. Sans placed a gentle hand on his thigh and gave it a pat. "see? you're alright."

"Sans?"

"it's alright."

It really wasn't. At some point which Gaster seemingly missed, a thin line of red began to slice itself across Sans' torso.

"S-sans, you're-!"

"i'm alright. don't worry about it, doc."

Gaster was back in the Void, watching as Sans faced the Child and was cut down over, and over, and over. 

Then he was weeping quietly at the end of his mother's bed, after she'd collapsed unexpectedly in the living room three days ago and hadn't woken up since.

In the lab, when a new child fell and he built them a coffin.

On the catwalk above the CORE.

In the kitchen, sitting stiff as a board, his hands wrapped so tightly around a cup of coffee that his claws had begun to gouge into the ceramic. His arm ached where he had fallen- though judging by his position, he'd never gotten up from the table at all. The sun was well into the sky by the time Sans came shuffling in sleepily. He yawned and stretched upwards to peck Gaster on the cheek. "mornin', sunshine."

Gaster mimicked a smile. Sans was displeased. "you alright?"

Gaster nodded, taking a sip of cold coffee.

Sans watched him shrewdly before cautiously posing the question.

"did you take your meds?"

Another nod, though it was hesitant, and he ended up staring down into his cup. "Not sure."

He could feel Sans' eyelights on him. But he refused to look up, for fear of seeing that wound reappear and bleed onto the kitchen floor. Cool, bony hands took hold of his face; he closed his eyes and pressed into the touch. When they opened, Sans was there, for real this time. He knew it by how his soul fluttered and pulled in the other's direction. "this is real, dings. you're home. n'case you were wondering."

Gaster leaned down and forward until their foreheads were touching. From there, he was able to feather light kisses over each of Sans' cheekbones, and he very suddenly felt much more like himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this isn't a lot of Sanster so much as Gaster Suffers an Episode with a bit of Sanster at the end, but. I hope you like it anyway lol
> 
> So apart from the obvious, it makes sense to me that dying and all would leave Gasty with some pretty awful aftereffects. The medication isn't for mental trauma, but for his soul itself. It keeps trying to go back to the Void. Which results in being tossed around between timelines, i.e. not a good experience.


	7. Of Chains and Cherry Trees, Part 1 [Slave!Tale Gaster/Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from user WDGaster, based on the following prompt:
> 
> 'She had to save him from whatever clutches he would fall into the minute she saw him upon the podium, at the Slave grand theatre auction. Her elevated spot giving her the perfect view of his quivering form. Even if it meant falling for the gentle man, when he is assigned by your father, the previous King, as your personal butler.'
> 
> Contains mentions of death, injury, and (obviously) slavery.

It was a horrible affair, the slave auction. You were never fond of it. At one point you considered abolishing the event, having every right to do so as Queen, but there was a weathered book of laws and a hefty chunk of the population waggling their fingers in disapproval. Technically not illegal, just likely to end in your untimely assassination. A subtler approach might be needed. This didn't keep you from staring into the dark corners of your room at night, half-dreaming of the horrors your less fortunate subjects were put through every day.  
  
If only the monsters hadn't revolted...no. If only the humans hadn't driven them to that desperate point. The battle had been short, relatively speaking. In under a decade mankind was victorious, and something had to be done about those who survived on the other side.  
  
"It's either this, or another war" Father had said, flippantly, while signing the decree. _This_ being the nationwide enslavement of monster kind. The public execution of their King. Mass torture justified by a desire for peace. It made you sick.  
  
And now the dust was on your hands. Until you either found a way to join the two races in harmony, or to come to terms with the way things were and leave it be, you would continue to attend the slave auction. Fortunately, you had no obligation to participate, only to make an appearance. If that was even any better.  
  
The current stock on the chopping block was a springy little thing, a moth-like creature which buzzed about as far as its chains would allow. The handler announced a fair price. None of the buyers seemed particularly interested, so the monster was tugged away. One could almost hear the funeral dirge that must be droning through its head. A slave that couldn't turn a profit was always discarded, quickly and without mercy.  
  
The next item for sale climbed the rickety podium stairs. A being of fire this time, well muscled and standing tall. Not a trace of apprehension showed on its featureless face, confidence and strength inscripted in the square set of its shoulders. It was bought within seconds by a member of your Royal Council. Sir Dickory eyed his prize with excitement, dropping a bag of coins into the seller's outstretched hands.  
  
The fire-man seemed to slouch when its new master's back was turned. Sir Dickory was not known for being kind; and apparently, that reputation was already widespread.  
  
All manner of creatures were paraded across the podium, and all came with a price. You began to lose interest, and very nearly dozed off, until it appeared.  
  
Your eyes snapped fully open as they landed on the latest monster being shoved onto the display table. It was gaunt, willowy, and pale as death. Shivering, too; it must be freezing. Even the poorfolk on the streets below were bundled in crude fur and leather coats, while the monsters were given only thin, burlap tunics to cover their bodies. And while no slave was in the best of shape, this one looked particularly underfed and exhausted, judging by the smudges of grey beneath its violet eyes, how its lanky form appeared to quite literally be all skin and bone. Peculiarly, its shackles didn't encircle its wrists and ankles like the others'. It took a few good moments of squinting for you to realize there were holes straight through the monster's palms and feet, with which it was bound. Even from a distance you could see that the rusted chains had rubbed sores into the poor thing's skin.  
  
And one could only wonder how it acquired the scars on its face. Though on second thought, you'd rather not know.  
  
Something greater than the usual pang of pity struck your heart. Something that urged you to stand, and nearly jump right down into the pit to scoop the creature up and carry it away to safety.  
  
Feeling your father's eyes on your back, you sat back down, embarrassed, and tightly gripped the arms of your chair. Whatever mania had overtaken your body was gone, so long as you kept your eyes off the miserable monster below.  
  
But fate was already set in motion. Father rose for the first time during the auction and nodded to the keeper. No one dared to bid against him. Whether the sigh that racked your lungs was one of relief or dread was unclear even to yourself.

* * *

"You know how I feel about slavery."  
  
"But you wanted it! I could see it in your eyes!"  
  
"To _free_ it, not to keep it in chains!" You could have screamed. Father never gave much thought to his actions, he simply did them and let the consequences pile on.  
  
"What's the difference? You know what happens if they aren't bought. Besides, you needed a new butler." He smiled in the way a child does after performing a simple task, awaiting praise.  
  
"I already have a butler. One who is properly paid, and may come and go as he pleases."  
  
"Had." The old king picked at his manicured fingernails nonchalantly. "I sent him to Jurdenhall."  
  
" _Jurdenhall?_ Without asking me? That's miles away!"  
  
"Precisely. They're in need of hired hands, now that the city can be rebuilt, and I thought- where are you going?"

Enough was enough. Perhaps if you rode fast enough, you could catch up with your dear friend’s carriage, take him home, and fix this whole mess.

“Shall I send it back, then? The monster?”

You froze. “But they'll kill it.”

Father shrugged. "You might as well be swinging the axe yourself.”

Shaking with fury, you stormed up to the man who had raised you from birth and snarled in his triumphant face. “Do not _dare_ to blame me for a decision _you_ made, you conniving, bastardly-!”

“Now dear, calm yourself. That's no way to behave in front of your subjects."

You deflated like a snake retreating from the strike and turned to see the latest addition to the castle staff. If it had looked large from a distance, the monster was a giant up close. The top of your head was yet a foot below its hunched shoulders. Iron rings were still laced through its hands and feet. Had no one thought to remove them by now? Your anger immediately fizzled at the thought of its pain, and you extended a hand to help.

The monster jumped back with more grace than its twiggy limbs should have possessed, then froze in terror. It opened its mouth as if to speak- revealing teeth that could cut bone, long and curved fangs like the talons of an eagle- then thought better and closed again. Eventually, it simply stood there, eyes averted to the floor. It trembled in anticipation as the silence drew on.

Father watched without expression. He never did approve of your approach to the hired help, believing an iron fist was needed to keep them in line.

But your servants were always treated well, and your father’s slaves were shown the same respect you'd offer anyone else. This was the first time a slave had been yours alone, though, and it put an odd strain on the situation. “I'm not going to hurt you,” you murmured quietly. “May I see your hands?”

It thrust out its arms without hesitation. “At least the beast knows how to follow orders, if it can't find its tongue,” Father huffed. The monster winced.

You pointedly ignored him. As glimpsed back at the auction, the monster's hands were raw and worn, open wounds leaking dust on top of old scars. The shackle cuffs had only a tiny pinhole of a lock keeping them in place, but the metal was thick. “Were we not given the key to remove these?”

As if it were common knowledge, the old king sighed, exasperated. “You leave them on. How else will you keep it contained when it's out of your sight?”

“Fetch the blacksmith.”

“Dear, don't be-”

“Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do wanna write more of this, but I'm tired atm so here's part one for now :p More to come later! There will be fluff and possibly (probably) ((definitely)) romance!


	8. Of Chains and Cherry Trees, Part 2

"Comfortable?"

Your new butler shifted, uncomfortably, in his seat and nodded. He bashfully glanced up from his bandaged hands and, finding your eyes on him, looked right back down. Though he seemed to feel safer with your father gone- off to attend some meeting or other, probably terrorizing an assistant while he's at it- there would clearly be some time before the timid monster was able to trust you. He rarely spoke unless asked a direct question, and always avoided your eyes when possible.

What you'd gathered so far was concise: he was male, his name was Wingdings Gaster, and he was not at all happy to be here. The last fact hadn't been included in his answers, but anyone could tell.

At least he'd stopped shivering after a hot meal and a proper change of clothes. He didn't seem to mind that the plain servant's outfit was a bit small, failing to cover the whole of his long limbs. Perhaps he was used to it. You gave your best negotiater's smile and patted his arm. "Wonderful. I have a few more questions, if you don't mind?"

Another nod. As if he would refuse, anyway.

Your gaze was drawn back to those dark circles, his slouching posture. "Unless you'd like to get some rest first? You must be exhausted."

His back suddenly snapped straight as a board before he responded, quickly, in a voice low, gravelley, and hoarse with disuse, "I'll do anything you ask of me, your highness."

"Please, it's _____."

"Yes, your-" He winced. "Yes, miss _____."

There were a few long beats of silence as you considered your next question. With every second that passed, Gaster hunched tighter, subtly withdrawing, until he was just about hugging himself. He jumped when you spoke.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm. Um." The poor man was obviously confused, and answered cautiously. "Yes. It's most gracious of you to ask, Miss _____."

"Are you sure? If there's anything you need, simply tell me and I'll see it done."

Gaster seemed at a loss for words. He glanced from side to side, to the floor, to your face, as if gauging if this were some sort of test. In the end, he only nodded without words and looked back down at his hands. They had twitched and fidgeted frantically about each other ever since he entered the room.

And that was about as much progress as you could make for the morning. He followed obediently as you stood, took his arm- how he blushed, turning a lovely purple which reminded you of the lilacs in your garden- and led him around in a grand tour of the castle. You did most of the speaking, with Gaster only adding a word or two in response. But the splendor clearly wasn't lost on him. Those wide, amethyst eyes landed on every fine piece of sculpture, each elaborate painting, and the beautifully crafted architecture with open wonder.

He was especially captivated by the library, with walls stacked high of books and scrolls on every subject. Arched windows were cast open to let in the cool autumn air, and crisp leaves occasionally blew in across the tables, landing on shelves. Gaster picked one up to feel it crunch between his fingers. He seemed to forget you were there, for a moment, smiling faintly.

As per usual you scared the hell out of him, this time by chuckling. He let the leaf flutter to the floor and stood stiffly at attention. Unfortunately, he rose too quickly and stumbled into a table, sending the books atop it scattering across the carpet. His ghostly complexion somehow paled even further, and he hastily began gathering them up. "So sorry- I- I'll get this cleaned up immediately, Mistress, I shouldn't have-"

Quietly, you helped him pick up the books and set them back on the table. "No harm done. Are you alright? I hope you didn't hurt yourself."

 "I-" He blinked, choking on his words. "I'm fine."

Still, you took hold of his hands and turned them over, looking for papercuts. The helpless monster blushed a dark violet at the touch, yet said nothing.

You'd be lying if you said this wasn't a little intentional. His shyness was endearing, in a way, and he was so terribly easy to fluster.

Though it came to mind that he might not want to be touched, and only complied because he felt he had no say in the matter. You quickly released him and stepped a pace or two back. Gaster was staring at his hands as though they were on fire. The tour continued in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter! Bc I get too excited about sharing what I've gotten done and just post it >_> Would it be better if I did longer chapters with more time between updates? Is anyone even reading this and have an opinion on updates, or am I worrying over nothing?? Idk! Just let me know what you guys think.


	9. Caffeine Jitters [Humantale Gaster x OC]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a football player and a physics teacher walk into a coffee shop...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a quick break from the Slave!Tale mini fic to get this idea on paper (on my phone? you get it)

On this lovely day in late spring Rhy was in a coffee shop, stalking that cute professor with the curls for the fifth time this week. The older man came in daily to get his pre-shift energy boost- a medium coffee with cream, sugar, and a sprinkle of cinnamon- giving Rhy plenty of time to peer subtly over his laptop and ogle.

The man's last name was Gaster, and he was some kind of doctor. A science one, not medical. He worked at a local college and, as his warm smiles and generous tips to the baristas implied, was sweet as maple syrup. That was about all Rhy knew regarding identity. As for looks, he could write a full length novel describing his crush down to the finest detail.

He was very tall, the top of his head nearly brushing the cafe's low ceiling. If Rhy had to guess, he'd place him around six and a half feet. He had loose, shoulder length, mahogany curls framing his round face- occasionally pulled back into a fluffy bun, Rhy could scream at the level of cuteness- and dark hazel-green eyes that would be so easy to get lost in. Those eyes crinkled kindly at the edges when he smiled, which was often. There were lighter patches of skin above his right eye and below his left, breaking a complexion the same color as the coffee in his cup. That was some sort of condition...vertigo? No, that's what Rhy was feeling. He'd think of the name later. Gaster's figure was as soft as his disposition, thick in the limbs and a bit pudgy about the middle; Rhy had often imagined him as a great hugger. The kind of guy who'd like to cuddle on the couch and watch Disney movies. He had a large Roman nose spattered with freckles, perfect teeth, full, kissable lips-

Rhy was well aware that he was in deep. Up to his neck. Without a rope or scrap of string to grab onto. The only chance he had of escaping was to either find a new caffeine dispensary, free of handsome professors who would steal his heart, or to make a move.

So today was the day he'd finally bite the bullet and ask Gaster out. His chest had already begun to rattle at the thought alone. He fished his inhaler out of his coat, just in case. Getting a date was significantly harder while having an asthma attack. Rhy learned that the hard way two weeks before senior prom, six years ago.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on past mistakes. The future was bright, if Gaster might be in it, and the only way to make that happen was to act now. He rose from the table and shut his laptop with a snap, sticking it under his arm and marching confidently towards the table in the corner, by the window, scattered with notes and textbooks.

He froze when the professor took a pair of round, wire rim glasses out of his bag and put them on.

Rhy wheezed. Gaster's eyes were magnified by the lenses, giving him the likeness of a thoroughly surprised owl, and it was just too much. The younger man awkwardly stumbled and made a beeline for the counter. To order another drink he didn't actually want. Like a coward. A cold pit formed in his lower stomach even as he flashed a grin for the barista.

He didn't get it. He could charm the pants off anyone. In school, Rhy talked his way out of homework assignments, convinced his parents to let him go _bungee jumping_ at age thirteen, and had the pick of any date for every event (barring the disastrous promposal, his sole failure). What made _this_ guy so difficult to approach? He retreated to his table with a black coffee to sulk.

* * *

Gaster's heart was racing a million miles a minute. He'd seen Rhy getting up in his peripheral vision, and when he came in _Gaster's_ direction he hadn't known what to do. So he took his glasses out, just for something to do with his hands, to hide how tense he was-

And...oh. The young man was just getting a drink. Gaster wanted to cry. Two months of this silly crush and he hadn't done a single thing about it.

He stared at his coffee cup and debated spiking it with the mini bottle of rum in his duffle bag. It was supposed to be a housewarming gift for Asgore, but he could always buy another.

Shaking his head as if to clear the thought, curls bouncing about his face, Gaster pushed the idea from his mind. There was always tomorrow. Maybe then he'd find his nerve.

It was just too cruel a twist of fate that this man was everything he admired. Handsome, muscular, and outgoing, with a well-groomed mess of purposefully tousled black hair and gleaming, chocolate-colored eyes. He was shorter than Gaster, but not by much, and his toned form gave the illusion of a much greater height. Gaster had seen how he joked and laughed with the workers at the cafe, the other customers, total strangers; he was smooth talker in every sense of the word. There had been many a time where the sheepish professor felt shivers tingling down his spine at the man's buttery voice.

So it should be obvious that someone so young, fit, and charismatic would have no interest in someone like him. Gaster was nearing his thirty-seventh birthday, while this man looked young enough to be one of his students at the university! Gaster hadn't been to a gym since high school, while the younger man clearly knew the layout of one inside and out. Gaster could barely get through a sentence without stuttering, while words rolled off his crush's tongue like water off wax. He didn't stand a chance.

But a chance was staring him in the face, in the form of a bright red piece of plastic on the tile floor. After much sweating and internal screaming, Gaster took it.

* * *

Bitter as the drink in his hands, Rhy took to staring at the street beyond the window. He reclined against the windowsill, the midday sunlight outlining the shape of his sharp jaw and furrowed brow. He had the look of a Grecian sculpture in a pose of deep, troubled thought.

At least, this was Gaster's impression as he approached with the little red object in his shaky hands. He cleared his throat.

Before any words could escape, Rhy looked up- and up, and up to the ceiling- and gawked, no longer statuesque but very human and scared. Gaster cringed internally. Fear was not a reaction he'd been hoping for, but his height did often throw people off. He ran a hand through his bouncy hair and croaked out a quick, "Hello."

Rhy stared. Then he stared some more, and suddenly remembered what comes after hello. "Hey."

"Um...y-you dropped...this."

"Oh. Thanks." In the professor's hands- soft, freckled, smooth looking hands- was Rhy's inhaler. Rhy patted his coat to confirm that yes, that was _his_ inhaler, and yes, _Gaster_ of all people had been the one to find it. Smiling in what he hoped was a natural manner, he gingerly took it back. Their fingers brushed. Rhy could squeal.

Gaster was feeling much of the same, though all that betrayed this was a tinge of red to his cheeks. "So, ah...I couldn't help but notice..."

Rhy's heart dropped through the floor. _He knows_ , he moaned in his head, _he knows I'm a stalker and oh god what if he saw me take that picture and how do I explain I just wanted to ask my friend if he works at their school and I already deleted it and-_

"You've got a Canaries sticker on your laptop. I-I, um, I don't watch the games myself, but they're my school's rival team, and um...they're very good." Gaster's hands wrung, twitched, fiddled with his glasses.

"Oh, yeah? Glad you think so, I'm the quarterback." Despite his nerves Rhy couldn't help the edge of pride that crept into his voice. He'd worked hard for that position, and was a great deal responsible for his team's success.

The professor's eyes lit up like fireworks, flicking only briefly over Rhy's broad chest. That explained a lot. "R-really? Wow! That's- I-I mean, it's- ah-"

Rhy wished he had a photographic memory so he could remember this adorable moment for years to come. Gaster's tiny blush, his stutters, how he shuffled from foot to foot and smiled shyly at the floor. Though as the man got more flustered, Rhy felt a tinge of guilt, motioning to the chair across from himself. "Are you busy? We could talk some more about school, football...whatever else. You know?"

Gaster gratefully accepted. His fingers drummed anxiously on the table as he made a conscious effort not to look at Rhy's pecs.

Rhy's own hands did their fidgeting out of sight, behind his back, as he pretended to stretch. He asked, as if he hadn't known for weeks, "So, what's your name?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me chubby human gaster or give me death


	10. Of Chains and Cherry Trees, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the arc that never ends it goes on and on and on my friends this is th
> 
> Tbh this would work better as a standalone fic, but I don't want to commit to yet another work and end up not finishing it.

Whatever living conditions Gaster had once been accustomed to, it certainly wasn't this. He asked you _four times_ if it was truly alright, giving him such an expansive room, because he'd happily sleep outside if that's what you wished! Someone far more important could make use of this room, he insisted, this was much too extravagant a place for a monster such as himself-

"Wingdings." You delighted in the name, the oddness of it and how it slipped off your tongue. The monster stood straight and stopped his rambling.

Placing a hand on his forearm, you continued, "Everything you see in here? It's all yours." You waved in a wide arc at the plush, white linen bed; the rosewood wardrobe inlaid with gold accents, a mirror hung in an intricate silver frame, the washroom stocked with every amenity a guest might need. It was simple, compared to your own quarters, yet your butler gawked at the room as if it were a royal suite. "Go on," you urged him.

He took two timid steps forward, looked back to you for reassurance, and, emboldened by whatever he saw there, sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

All at once his shoulders slumped, and he sank deeply into the heavenly soft sheets. His hands ran up and down the fine silk, though he probably couldn't feel it very well through the bandages. Something else was apparently on his mind.

"P-permission to speak, Mistress?"

"You need not ask."

"Is..." A nervous clack of claws, a deep breath, and he went on. "Is Grillby being treated well? The elemental- f-fire monster."

Elemental? He must mean that flame creature Sir Dickory sank his talons into. Knowing the man as you did, the answer to Gaster's question would be a firm no.

"I don't know," you lied. "I haven't spoken to either of them since we left the auction." That much at least was true.

"Ah." He fell into contemplative silence, thin brows furrowing in what you assumed was worry. 

It might help Gaster to see a familiar face, even if circumstances would not allow for a normal friendship. "Why don't I talk to Sir Dickory at tomorrow's council meeting, see if I can't schedule some sort of meeting for you and Grillby? I'm sure he'll be cooperative." Primarily because, as his queen, you could arrange any damn thing you wanted. But also because even the callous Dickory could see the benefit in a happy, content slave as opposed to a lonely and miserable one. It was sickeningly pragmatic. How could he refuse?

Gaster's eyes lit up like starbeams, and he nodded, bouncing excitedly on his new bed. "Y-yes! I would like that very much, Mistress, I-I can't thank you enough!"

"You can thank me by getting a good night's rest," you mused, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving a light squeeze. He seemed to lean into the touch. "We have much to do tomorrow. I still haven't shown you the gardens, the courtyard, the stables- you wouldn't happen to know how to ride a horse, would you? I could take you for a nice ride around the lake, it looks lovely at sunrise."

All at once, the joy was ripped from his features. His body shied from you where before it had pressed close. "No. S-sorry."

"Really? None of your prior masters thought to teach you?"

He gripped his own forearm and dug his claws into the flesh they found there. "They thought we would steal a horse and use it to run away. One of my friends- another servant tried it, and they caught him and- a-and they-"

A disobedient slave was as good as dead in the eyes of most nobles. Gaster did not need to finish that thought, you had already gotten the point. "Wingdings..." He flinched. "You know that's not going to happen here, right?"

His head was bowed, and though you leaned forward to meet his eyes his face remained veiled in shadow. "I will learn if that's what you wish of me, Mistress."

"But is that what _you_ want?"

Gaster looked up. His blank, broken expression knocked the breath out of you. The room's dim candlelight cast shadows over the creases and sharp edges of his face, gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes sending a shiver down your spine. It was so easy to forget why his kind were called 'monsters'. Your gaze was drawn to those wicked canines as his words clicked past them mechanically. "It doesn't matter what I want. I am at your command, Mistress."

He was tearing a hole into his sleeve. You instinctively reached for his hand to still it, but hesitated, instead casting a pointed look at the damage he was inflicting. His hands fell into his lap and clasped tightly there. "Very well," you finished lamely, and headed for the door. "Please, get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

The monster said nothing else as you closed the door. You left him, pretending not to hear the sniffles that followed you down the hallway.

Because it didn't matter how loosely you held his leash; it was still a leash. It didn't matter how much kindness and patience you offered, he still had no real reason to trust you, to believe you'd be different from his previous masters. No amount of pretty gifts or gentle touches could erase that fear. You had brought him here, inadvertently, forcing him into your personal servitude without any chance of escape. Of course the poor wretch was miserable.

Part of you wanted to go back to him and offer comfort, but how could you ease pain you yourself were causing? Besides, his room should be a place of sanctuary and privacy- likely the only one he would ever get- and you were going to respect that. So you let him cry, alone, feeling your soul tug painfully back in the monster's direction.

Judging by his haggard appearance the next morning, he didn't sleep a wink. His few sentences were brief and clipped, and until you were called to speak with the council it seemed he had forgotten all about your promise. Maybe he thought you weren't going to follow through. Determined to see him smile, you slipped a casual reminder into your conversation before leaving for the meeting.

"I'm sure Grillby is as excited to see you as you are to see him."

And for half a second, hope returned to Gaster's violet eyes. He bowed deeply and murmured a word of thanks as you swept into the room, leaving him to his own devices for the next few hours. He'd most likely head outside and play with the guard dogs, brush the horses, or pet the cows. After you'd shown him the beautiful castle grounds, as well as the various animals which lived there, he'd been awfully reluctant to leave. It brought a smile to your face, remembering his easy laughs as the newest litter of puppies crawled onto his lap. Maybe you could convince the groundskeeper to let Gaster keep one.

Thirteen grim faces lining the oval shaped council table brought your mind back to the present moment. It was, unfortunately, time to hear what petty grievances the upper class had to voice, and placate them before they decided to stop paying their taxes. Your eyes landed on Sir Dickory's. He sat straight backed and stiff in his posh, blue-grey tunic, not at all happy to be here. Just your luck that he would be in a mood the day you needed to make a request.

Remembering the sound of your dear monster's sobs the previous night spurred you through the carved oak doorway and into your seat at the head of the table. He would see his old friend, no matter the cost.


	11. The Killing Moon [Humantale Underfell Gaster]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got the skills to pay the bills, and those skills just happen to involve gruesome murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter's got a little blood and gore.
> 
> Title is ripped from this song:
> 
> https://youtu.be/LWz0JC7afNQ

A sickle moon lit the docks that night. It speckled the waves that slapped against the pier, spraying droplets on the tops of Gaster’s shined designer shoes. He drew deeply from his fifth cigarette of the evening before flicking it into the water. The nicotine made his hands shake, so he refrained from lighting another. He dearly wished he could; all he felt was the sluggish throb of a tension headache as two sleepless nights took their toll. Yet his steps didn't falter as he strode casually from the shipyard and into town, leaving the churning waves behind. His tie fluttered loosely on the seabreeze.  
  
Gaster was dressed to fit in. This was a posh part of the city, a place of mansions and extravagant living, so he'd put on his Sunday best just for the occasion. Anyone who might look outside would see only a neighbor walking home after a day of working, drinking, partying, gambling, whatever it was these rich assholes did on Thursdays.  
  
He had one such rich asshole's schedule down to a T. The man woke up at six a.m. sharp, swam in his heated pool until seven, had breakfast at eight, did aerobics until ten, lounged about for an hour or two, ate lunch at noon, and spent the rest of his time socializing and schmoozing with other pompous moneybags until his bedtime at ten p.m. It was currently eleven thirty at night. Gaster checked his Rolex just to be sure.  
  
The target's house sat on the corner, surrounded by pointed shrubs and an even pointier fence. Gaster eyed the spiked top of the gate with disinterest. There was always another way into these places, a back door, somewhere the hired help or secret mistresses would enter. He found one such hidden entrance by slipping in between the shrubberies and the wall of the neighboring house. This gate was locked with a simple latch, which he easily snapped. A freshly cut lawn and active lawn sprinklers were the only threats to greet him on the other side. He irritably kicked off the bits of wet grass that clung to his shoes.

The simplicity of this job was almost insulting. No security system, no visible guards, and only a few scattered cameras that were easily avoidable if you knew how to stick to the shadows. Gaster had taken more dangerous trips to the grocery store- which was no exaggeration, as he always risked the chance of being recognized by the wrong person. He picked his way carefully across the yard and onto the porch, searching for a way in.

The moron had left a window open. Granted, it was two stories up, but that was likely to be the most difficult part of this entire mission. The house’s siding was too smooth to climb, and there were no convenient ladders or lengths of rope lying around.

There was, however, a balcony just within reach. Gaster pulled himself up onto the railing, ignoring the aching protest in his shoulders, and hopped to grab hold of the windowsill. This was definitely in view of the cameras. Not like it particularly mattered, he could find where that footage was stored and scramble it once the job was done.

Though climbing into the window was easy. Gaster didn’t quite stick the landing. His shoes, wet from the lawn outside, slipped on the ledge. And though he managed to catch himself on the shutters, it directed the trajectory of his fall only slightly onto the carpet rather than the marble floor. He landed hard with nothing more than a quiet grunt, and lay still.

Nothing stirred but the curtains, fluttering with the wind. Determining that he was alone on this floor, Gaster rose, feeling something in his back crackle unpleasantly. Even as he headed for the target’s bedroom, making no effort to stay out of sight in the vast hallway, no one came to investigate. Gaster wouldn’t have cared if they did. The client hadn’t specified who should live, meaning bystanders were fair game, and Gaster’s fingers were itching to wrap around some throats. They twitched restlessly at his side.

He passed numerous doors, most of them closed, all the same hideous shade of vomit yellow that probably passed for tasteful in the art world. The owner of this mansion was some sort of paintings dealer. As far as Gaster knew, they’d never touched a paintbrush in their life, but they were happy to sell off others’ works for a hefty forty percent of the profits. Not like he was some sort of connoisseur, but Gaster was of the opinion that people should be paid fairly for their hard work. He could appreciate the talent that went into the craft, silently admiring a few examples that hung on the walls.

One of the doors he passed was open. Gaster froze upon seeing a face staring back at him, a chill of adrenaline tingling down his spine, but his hackles lowered as he exasperatedly recognized it as his own. Just a mirror. A quick look around determined that this was the bathroom. Fairly small and simple, considering the rest of the house. It might be for guests. He regarded his reflection with an expression one might use while studying a bug in a jar. It wasn't often he noticed his own appearance, seeing how much it changed with every new disguise, injury, the passing of time.

Much of it was the same as he remembered: wavy dark hair with grey at the temples, gelled back towards the base of his skull and just barely brushing his shoulders; honey colored eyes that glittered in the low light, and a vicious, jagged burn scar stemming from each eye. Though the worst of it was concealed with stage makeup, he could still recall how the skin had bubbled and peeled from his skull, drooping his right eye and granting a permanent sneer to the opposite corner of his mouth. His reflection glowered in the heavy darkness, then vanished as Gaster moved on.

The target was fast asleep in the master bedroom. If this job got any easier, Gaster might have to set the house on fire just to spice things up a little. He crept across the plush carpeted floor to their bedside. So peaceful, snoring gently, one arm wrapped around a pillow and the other thrown over their eyes. Gaster drew a switchblade knife from inside his jacket and slit their throat.

Though the kill was quick and efficient, he enjoyed the brief experience, hazy pleasure clouding his eyes as his blade exerted enough pressure to slide through the skin and neatly open up the jugular. He didn't bother to hold them down as their body spasmed, hands clutching uselessly at their neck while globules of blood seeped between their fingers. Watching their life bleed into their sheets, Gaster wondered what he might have for dinner. Cigarettes normally killed his appetite, but for some reason he was absolutely starving tonight.

The victim gurgled and choked on their own gushing fluids. Gaster hummed to himself in thought. Something spicy would be nice. There was a Thai place down the road, and on the odd chance they were open this late he might pick something up.

Minutes later they were gone, eyes glassy and gazing at nothing in particular. Gaster picked up their limp wrist and, finding no pulse, exited the same way he had come. He took a detour to the kitchen to rifle through their fridge. Expensive wine, imported juices, RC cola- what sort of millionaire buys RC cola? Gaster snorted and swiped one of the cans. He left through the foyer, finding the security room on the way out.

There was a watchman inside, snoozing over the control desk. Gaster debated whether he wanted to put off his red curry any longer, sipping from his soda, and somewhat reluctantly settled for deleting all the security footage from the past hour. The guard went untouched.

At the last second Gaster turned on heel and changed his mind. This kill was cleaner, leaving only a ring of purplish bruises around the man’s throat.

By the time Gaster returned to the docks, the moon had disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds. His payment should have been dropped by now- twenty thousand dollars cash, stashed in the blue trailer at the south end of the yard. He took his time, burning through three cigarettes on the walk past the boats bobbing on the sea, some shining and new, others coated in rust and stuck with barnacles where their hulls sank below the water. Gaster took breaths of fresh seaside air between each lungful of smoke. He would love to live by the ocean. A little shack, a fishing rod, maybe a dog. It’d be a welcome change from all the shitty hotel rooms. And though he was fully aware that settling down- let alone somewhere so conspicuous as a beachside property- was one step below begging to be killed, the daydream made him smile all the same.

The duffle bag was exactly where it was supposed to be. Every dollar was accounted for, as well as the requested change of clothes. Gaster shimmied out of his fine suit and tossed it off the pier, putting on the stained jeans, patched canvas jacket, and white sneakers instead. Removing his leather gloves, he ruffled his hair until his appearance suggested ‘off-duty liberal arts professor’ rather than ‘I could buy your entire family with one thousandth of the funds in my bank account’. The Bangkok 56 on 43rd Street was calling his name, so he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the shipyard for the final time. Gaster would be boarding an 8 o’ clock flight across the country tomorrow morning. Chances were, he'd never see this city again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we've bumped up to a mature rating! UF Gaster is such a terrible, callous person in both monster and human form. So evil. But also hot. Hot and evil. Why do I love him ;_;


	12. A Series of Firsts - First Date [Gaster x Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How you managed to land a date with your physics professor after bashing him in the face with a folding chair, the world may never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of chapter 5, First Impressions.

How you managed to land a date with your physics professor after bashing him in the face with a folding chair, the world may never know. The first few weeks after the incident had been horrendously awkward. He treated you just as fairly as any other student, speaking kindly and quickly in his gentle rasp, offering assistance when you struggled with your work, and otherwise being the sweetest, most helpful teacher you'd ever had the pleasure of learning from.

And you might've developed a teensy, insignificant crush. _That_ was the awkward part. Features that once turned your stomach became appealing, endearing, and...kind of hot. His eyes glittered like perfectly cut amethysts set in velvety black, and crinkled when he smiled. His words were sharp, precise, professional- until he became nervous or flustered, at which point a slight stutter jutted between consonants, his pace quickening and causing him to stumble over topics he knew front and back. A blush usually accompanied this, the prettiest pale lavender you'd ever seen, spreading all the way from his prominent cheekbones to the little bump where his nose would be. His hands were elegant and thin, like a pianist's, his movements switching between fluid and graceful to fluttery and nervous, both of which were equally adorable in their own ways.

You had it _bad_. To think that only weeks ago his appearance had made you want to run and scream. You might still want to do that, albeit into his arms, hugging his thin waist and nuzzling into his soft sweater-

Your cheeks heated despite the frigid cold air. The two of you had a date scheduled for today, though whether Gaster considered it a friend date or a _date_ date was unclear. He'd been ecstatic when you invited him for a walk around the park, his face breaking into a wide, sharp-toothed grin, his eyes twinkling like stars as he boomed a resounding, "Yes!" Wincing, his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped as he added, "Um, so sorry for shouting, what I mean is...that sounds lovely."

Which was just too cute. Cute, cute, _triple_ cute, it shouldn't be allowed. This monster was going to give you a heart attack.

Currently, your hands trembled around a cup of cold coffee, sloshing the contents up over the rim and dribbling it down your fingers. Cursing quietly, you peeled your gloves off and shook them, but the air was too cold to let the thick wool dry. You'd been standing here for quite some time, hobbling from foot to foot to keep warm. The time on your phone claimed that there were still twenty minutes left until the 'date' of indeterminable intent was to begin. Gaster was a punctual sort, and you had no doubt he'd be showing up right on time.

Shockingly, he half-jogged into view five minutes late. The professor wore a garishly bright outfit consisting of a white winter parka, yellow mittens, and a teal scarf. It was wrapped tightly around his neck and lower face, the tail end draped back over his shoulder. He tugged it down to speak, slightly breathless. For just a moment, a jolt of fear struck your chest at the sight of his face. Basic human instinct was telling you to run, this creature is not of this world, it'll eat you and grind your bones- so you shooed the feeling back into the depths of your lizard brain with a broom, focusing in on his words.

"Sorry! I'm so t-terribly sorry for being late, I got caught up in grading tests and a student stayed behind to ask some questions and b-by the time they were finished it was already half past four and-" He broke off into a coughing fit, his face already flushed magenta from the cold.

Was it too soon to drag him back home, sit him in front of the radiator and bundle him in blankets? Because the poor guy needed it. Frowning, you tossed the stale coffee in a trash can and reached out to place a hand on his arm. "Hey, it's no big deal. I wasn't waiting that long-" Lies. But that was your own fault for coming forty minutes early, not his. "- and you're here now! That's all that matters."

He bit at his bottom lip, leaving you astonished that his fangs didn't tear right through the skin. They didn't look nearly so scary anymore. Almost goofy, really, with how far they jutted past his mouth. After a pause, he smiled shyly and nodded. "I suppose it is. Um...shall we?"

"Please. It's too cold to stand still." Late autumn was easily the best time of year on campus, with all its magnificent, sprawling spruce trees, yet somehow it felt even colder than wintertime. It might've been from the windchill, or perhaps the sudden transition from blistering summer heat to nearly freezing temperatures.

Gaster easily kept pace with you, his long legs taking a single step for every two of yours. He kept close, though not too close, leaving a few inches of space between your arms. You wouldn't mind if they bumped together a few times. Any contact felt electrifying, no matter how small. On one occasion, the two of you had brushed fingers as you handed in an assignment. The resulting adrenaline rush stuck with you for the rest of the class, making you fidgety, restless and unable to focus on anything but the memory of how soft his hands had been.

Speaking of focus, Gaster had just said something that went right over your head while it was stuck in the clouds. "Sorry, what?"

He cleared his throat and glanced downward- shit, he was probably embarrassed. "I, um...nevermind."

"Oh." What did he say?! It must have been important, and you missed it completely. "So...how's your cat?"

The doctor lit up like a Christmas tree, his hands clapping together in excitment. "I have two now! Cherry seemed so bored on her own, and it just so happened that a stray has been running around downtown. I picked her up, got her checked out at the vet, and now Blossom is a part of the family!" Beaming, he proudly displayed his lockscreen wallpaper. A fluffy, dark auburn cat was cuddled up beside a pale brown tabby.

"Aww, that's great! They look so happy together."

"They are! Goodness, I love them both so much. It's nice having someone around the apartment." A tint of purple rose to his cheeks. "Um, well, I'm sure you get what I mean by some _one_. They make the place feel a little less...empty."

Was he hinting? Did he feel lonely? Was he waiting for a plucky young theatre kid to dash into his life and sweep him off his feet?

As usual, your imagination got carried away with visions of a storybook romance with the monster of your dreams. You shook them off, pulling at a loose thread on your gloves. They were still too damp to wear. "Yeah, I get it. Cats are basically tiny people. Who poop in boxes and eat dead animals." Christ. Five minutes in and you were literally talking shit.

To your relief, Gaster laughed. It was a delightful noise, despite the way it crunched like splintered wood and rumbled like thunder from the deepest depths of Hell. Dark, nervewracking, and beautiful. "Yes, tiny people who also like to chew on my orchids. No matter where I move the flowerpot, Cherry always finds a way to reach it." He sighed happily, grinning from ear to non-existent ear. "Ah, but you didn't come to hear me ramble on about that. Are the show preparations going well?"

Though you would gladly ask more about his beloved cats, he seemed sincerely interested in this topic. You shrugged. "We've had some technical issues, but nothing major."

Gaster tilted his head slightly. "Oh? Anything I might assist with?"

"I dunno." You shrugged and jammed your ungloved hands under your armpits. "How much do you know about electrical wiring?"

"Well, my first degree was in physics, but the second was in geothermal engineering. Not quite the same field, but I do know plenty about-"

"Wait. Two degrees?"

"Ah...yes."

"What kind."

"Doctorates?"

You squinted. "You have two PhDs."

"Um...yes."

"And you're how old?"

Unnerved by this line of questioning, Gaster looked down at his twitching hands. "I just turned forty last winter..."

"How old were you when you got them?"

"Well, the physics courses took five years to complete, while the engineering ones only required two, so I believe I was twenty three by graduation."

Your mouth hung open uselessly until you found the sense to close it. "When the fuck did you start college?" He flinched at your raised voice, his pupils shrinking in fear, and your tone softened. "Sorry, I'm not judging. Impressed, actually. Also shocked. I mean. How the fuck."

"Sixteen. Shortly after I finished high school. As for how, education is a little different in the Underground. The time one spends earning it depends on the individual, not preset rules such as those used here on the surface. Everyone gets to learn at their own pace." Throughout the explanation, his voice took on the steady, informative drone he often used during lessons. It was amazing how easily he settled into the teacher role. Like he was born for it. "It's an ideal system, in my opinion, yet simply not feasible for humans. The population is too large and widespread. Monsters were only in the thousands, _maybe_ tens of thousands at that time. We could afford to have fewer regulations and focus on each student's needs."

"Huh. Makes sense." The path curved around the back of the university, parallel to the road which lead into town. Acres upon acres of trees spread out beyond that. Ebott City lay a few miles to the south, but up here, close to the mountain that once imprisoned all of monsterkind, the wilderness reigned supreme. The path you had chosen would eventually lead into the forest. You looked forward to that part the most. Just you, Gaster, and the wind whispering through the trees. How, if you dare to suggest it, romantic.

Gaster was talking, and yet _again_ it went unheard. There were so many thoughts buzzing through your skull that noises from your own brain and from the outside world became one and the same. You couldn't tell Gaster that- it would sound either crazy, or like a poorly fabricated excuse for ignoring him. On a date that _you_ invited him to, no less. So you smiled and nodded in reply.

He was quiet for a few heart stopping moments. "Really?"

What on earth did you just agree to. A bead of cold sweat dripped down your forehead. "Uh. Nah. Just kidding."

"Oh." He managed to put so much disappointment and sadness into that single syllable that your heart crumbled and sank into the dirt. "I just thought...um, sorry."

"Okay. Honestly. I didn't-" Didn't what? Didn't listen? Didn't care? You stopped in your tracks, causing Gaster to come to a halt at your side. The two of you had reached the edge of the woods. Weak sunlight struggled through the clouds and fought its way between sparse tree branches, offering no warmth and only minimal light. It was colder here; you shivered and pressed your arms tighter over your hands. "I didn't hear you. I'm not trying to ignore you, it's just...sometimes my ears don't...work..."

"Ah...you're hard of hearing? I do know how to sign, if you prefer that."

You dragged a hand down your face, sighing. Always such a sweetheart, making your heart soar at the worst of times. "No, I mean. Sometimes my thoughts. Are too loud. I don't hear voices or anything! I, uh...I sound insane right now, don't I?"

When you finally chanced a look up at his expression, you were baffled to find it warm. "Of course not. I know exactly what you're talking about. Are you nervous?"

Terrified. Gaster was placing a hand on your shoulder, and his eyes were so soft and caring, and if he didn't stop being a ghoulish dreamboat right this instant you might tug him down by the scarf and kiss him. You nodded, vigorously.

His brow furrowed thoughtfully as his mittened hand gave you a light squeeze. "I see...is it because-" Worry flickered across his features. "I do hope you aren't afraid of me anymore. If there's anything I've been doing that puts you on edge, please say so."

"You're really cute," you blurted out, and at that point you figured it was too late to go back. "And you're always so nice, and- I kinda meant for this to be a date, like a _date_ , because you're a really awesome guy- who also happens to be my teacher, that's probably against the rules but. I don't even care."

Smooth.

Gaster looked dumbstruck. The longer he stared, the more you stared, and the darker each of your faces became. At last, he broke eye contact with a cough. His hand was still on your shoulder. "Actually...I-I don't believe we have any rules against that. I should know, they make you read the rulebook three times over before you're hired-"

"Three times? Seems extreme."

"It is."

"So."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Um." Gaster took a deep, shuddering breath inward, held it, and exhaled before meeting your eyes. "I was also hoping for this to be a date. Of the dating kind. I only thought...well, my age for starters-"

"I _may_ have a thing for DILFs."

"For what?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"There is also the fact that you once found my very appearance horrifying-"

" _Once_. As I said. Cute. Very handsome. And you smell nice." He really did, like herbal tea and old books, a dash of cologne when he was feeling fancy.

Gaster had become grapester with how purple his face was turning. Maybe the comment on his scent was a step too far, but hey. It was true.

"In that case...I see no reason why we should not...date. If we so wish."

On this fine autumn day at five twenty p.m., the universe had just let you win the charming monster boyfriend lottery. "Oh, I _do_ wish."

Gaster carefully pried your hands free from their parka prisons and clasped them between his own. His smile could have melted the snows that were yet to come, that hinted heavily on the chilled northern winds, and you knew that throughout the following winter you'd be kept toasty and warm. "As do I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible next chapter: first kiss??? Maybe!


	13. Cravings [Gaster x Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day in keeping the father of your child under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so as a warning, this chapter contains mpreg. Though not really? It's soul pregnancy, meaning the baby's soul grows off one parent's soul, and even if it makes no sense this 'pregnancy' has the same side effects as a human one. Meaning soul pregnant Gaster is a moody, sugar hungry, overly needy Gaster. Enjoy?

Gaster had just shoved three- no, _four_ entire donuts in his mouth at one time, and you figured it was time to intervene. You couldn't even muster the energy to be surprised anymore. Ever since he discovered the tiny, misshapen bump growing off his soul, glowing the same bright color as yours, the symptoms of a soulbourne pregnancy had begun to take their toll. The two of you were ecstatic of course, Gaster especially. It had always been a dream of his to become a father.

It did concern you that the child was forming off his battered, damaged soul rather than your healthy and whole one, but it couldn't be helped. The choice was random. The pregnancy itself was unplanned, though you'd both been prepared for the eventuality that came with becoming soul-bonded mates. A baby soul could be formed through any affectionate contact, be it as simple as a hug or as heated and intimate aswhat occurred just last night. Your poor husband lacked the stamina for too much vigorous activity- meaning such intimacy was kept to a minimum. Most of his magic was going into keeping your little one alive. As his spouse, soulmate, and long time best friend, you'd taken it upon yourself to pamper and treat him at every opportunity.

A decision which you often found yourself regretting. You loved him to bits, that was true, and you'd do anything to make him happy, but a monster his age should know better than to choke himself to death on deep fried pastries. Gaster glowered at you dolefully, making grabby hands at the donuts you had just taken away. He whined your name, sounding so sad and wanting that you almost caved.

"No," you snapped resolutely, stashing the slightly soggy donuts in a ziploc. "You can have more after dinner."

He whined again, breaking off as his breath hitched and a hand sprung to his chest. Your heart dropped at the grimace of pain on his face.

"_-____? I think-" He gapsed, breathing in sharply and holding it for a long while. Your pulse hammered in your head, hands curled and braced to the anxious line of your mouth, until at last he slumped with relief. "Nevermind. Just a kick."

It had only taken seconds, yet the scare left you jittery and short of breath. You couldn't help but sigh as you laid your head against his chest and rubbed his back soothingly. "Good. That would've been way too early. How long did you say this normally lasts?"

"Three months." He let his chin fall on the top of your head and hummed, snuggling into the hug. Only a month and a half had passed since the pregnancy began. If the baby decided to detach now...

Well, it couldn't be good. A soul that small could never survive on its own. Not to mention the damage it would do to your dear husband's ravaged soul. It could leave new cracks, or worse, dust him entirely. You squeezed him tighter at the thought.

Your poor, innocent, helpless Wingdings...

The 'innocent' monster was reaching for the donuts again. What a bastard. You slapped the ghostly hand away, and it dissolved in a puff of purple magic. Gaster whined yet again. "Why are you being so mean to me!"

"You've already had six. Six donuts! You're going to make yourself sick!"

"The baby needs it," he pouted, pulling back to look at you with a miserable, downright heartbroken expression.

"No, _you_ want it. I get it, you have cravings, but this is just-" 

He sniffled.

"...ridiculous..."

The sniffles became hiccups, and you were horrified to see moisture gathering in his eyes.

"Okay! It's not ridiculous, but I still won't let you-"

His shoulders shook with a sob, lavender tears now streaking down his cheeks.

"Wing, honey, I'm sorry, please don't cry-"

He was crying anyway. Vigorously, nearly gasping for breath as he hid his flushed face in his hands.

"Ah, fuck...Wing? You alright?"

"I-I don't-" He was cut off by another hiccup, and he sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. "Even know why I'm c-crying. This is- it's s- _stupid_..."

Sighing, you hugged him tightly, letting his bury his face in your hair. "Hormones. Or the monster equivalent, I guess."

"It's stupid," he repeated in a grumble. The sobs were lessening now, his voice still thick with emotion.

"No, it's not."

"It _is_!" Straight from bawling his eyes out to shouting in anger. Talk about mood swings. Fortunately, you knew just what to do.

"Do you want some chocolate?"

He paused. You could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, "I thought I wasn't allowed to have any more sweets?"

"I'll make an exception for today. Seems like you need the mood booster."

"All I really need is you and your hugs." His arms tightened, just about squeezing the air out of you, yet it was a familiar, welcome gesture. "But I won't say no to some cocoa."

Crisis averted- for now- you reached up to cup his cheeks and wipe the tears away. Your heart clenched at the obvious exhaustion on his face, the weeks of drawing from his depleted magic reserves leaving dark circles under his eyes, deepening the lines that carved through his fine skin. A harsh reminder of why all this drama was worth the effort. You tugged him down for a kiss, which he eagerly accepted. "Of course you wouldn't. I'll go set the stove."


	14. Risky Business [Humantale Underfell Gaster x Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe your time together had shown you his human side, the quirky, fun loving personality behind the cold, killer exterior.
> 
> Stockholm syndrome might also have something to do with it. A lot to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We saw creepy murder man human Fell, now it's time for something a little different. I.e. how can I make the reader love him without writing him out of character.

Had you known the day would end with you bloody, tired, and dragging a half conscious hitman down a musty, dimly lit hallway, you probably would've stayed home. The icy bullets of rain when you stepped outside were a blessing on your overheated skin, the exertion of saving Gaster's useless ass wearing you down to the core. You hauled him into the passenger seat of your getaway car and sped off down the road. Trees on either side blended into a wash of deep greens in navy blue darkness, your headlights beaming weakly yellow and casting enough human-like shadows to urge your foot harder on the gas pedal.

A groan from your right brought your attention back to the man currently bleeding buckets all over the leather upholstery. His head rolled limply in your direction, and he struggled to crack the less scarred of his eyes open for a peek at his surroundings. You quietly cleared your throat before speaking.

"I'm taking us back into town. We can rent a new hotel room, and I'll patch you up there. Unless..." Already knowing the answer, you hesitantly gave it a try anyway. "Can I _please_ take you to the hospital?"

His disapproving scowl lacked its usual intensity, looking more like a grimace of pain- which it likely was- and only convinced you that a proper doctor was the right choice. "Look, I know you don't want to get caught, but if I fuck up saving your stupid life then-"

Clearly he had no worries about chancing death, as he'd just begun pawing at the door handle and trying to push it open. You slammed down hard on the lock controls with enough force to cave the plastic button in. "Alright, you fucking walnut, don't go jumping out of the car! You're in no shape for stunts."

Apparently satisfied at getting his way, Dominic closed his eyes, relaxing back against the seat. He went still. Very still, and quiet, which lodged your heart in your throat until you saw for a fact he was still breathing. Your hands were pale against the velvet covered steering wheel as you stared straight at the road ahead. The closer you got to town, the more crucial it became for you to start following the speed limits and attempt to look like a regular, law abiding citizen. One who _hadn't_  recently snuck into the carefully guarded headquarters of a local gang. Dom's continuous bleeding made that difficult. His breath came ragged now, more shallow and labored, air gurgling over yet more blood which dripped from his mouth.

You found a hotel. You paid for it with a wad of cash, throwing in a little extra to keep the clerk from asking questions. You miraculously maneuvered Dom inside without being spotted, the lobby being empty and lifeless this late at night. Getting him up the stairs seemed impossible- as he had a good head of height over you and the coordination of a drunk ragdoll- until you figured out how to drape him over one shoulder like a mink scarf and pull the both of you up by the handrail. You propped his inert body between your shoulder and the wall while fumbling with the keys, then carried him in and dropped him straight on the bed.

First things first, you tore his shirt off. Though you'd always imagined doing this under different circumstances, it couldn't be helped that this version was a lot more gruesome and less sexy. On the contrary, your stomach turned at seeing the damage from his captors. Fresh cuts over old scars, crude, cruel wounds hewn into his skin with what must've been a dulled blade. The edges were jagged and rough, most definitely painful, and deep enough to cause all the blood you'd been seeing.

Senseless, horrifying torture. Not even a murderer deserved this. Or maybe he did, but you'd rather he didn't have to endure it anyway. You quickly set to work with your minimal medical knowledge and began cleaning him up. The miniature first aid kit you always kept tucked into your coat didn't have nearly enough bandages or gauze, but they would have to do. So long as it kept all his insides from going outside, it should be fine. He barely reacted as you doused the open sores in antiseptic and bound his entire torso. Nor did he move when you fell back onto the mattress beside him and gave yourself a moment to take in the silence.

Dom pissed off the wrong people, got kidnapped, tortured, and almost died. You drove seventeen miles to find him, broke into his cell, and pulled him out without getting shot. You both deserved a little rest.

These past two weeks had been such a shitshow. At the start of it all, Dominic Byron Gaster, professional assassin and full time lunatic, kissed you gently on the cheek and left for another night of work. The unwarranted affection put you on edge. He only offered things like kisses, soft touches, and compliments if he was in an exceptionally good mood, or if he wanted something from you. No show of kindness or geniality could be trusted. He was a manipulative scumbag through and through, no matter how often he smiled, or his creepily endearing affinity for knives, or his passion for living life to the fullest, suggesting a capacity for emotion deeper than you'd expected from that closed off heart of his-

You reminded yourself, harshly, that the only reason the two of you were acquainted was due to a long term hostage situation, which simmered down into a casual kidnapping once he realized no one was willing to pay that much money for your safe return. A truth which still stung, but hey, at least your life became more exciting. Having a life at all came as a surprise. He easily could have killed you when your continued existence proved unnecessary, and yet. Here you were. Living with him, talking to him, travelling from country to country as he sought out new employers. Sometimes it was almost enjoyable. Maybe your time together had shown you his human side, the quirky, intricate personality behind the cold, killer exterior.

Stockholm syndrome might also have something to do with it. A _lot_ to do with it. He was your only companion, after all, any ties you had in your civilian life lost the moment you agreed to be his partner in crime. No more social media, visits with friends, not even an email address. Only him. You often doubted if it was for safety reasons, as Dom always claimed when you asked. But why, then? What use could he have for keeping you around?

Your eyes closed. When they opened, Dominic was much paler than you last remembered.

Right. You might've stopped the bleeding but that didn't help replace all the fluids he lost. You'd have to help with that too, since he was out cold and would probably stay that way for a while. Days, maybe.

That thought brought on another thought, and you weren't sure how you felt about it. You could leave. And he would die, most likely, without someone here to watch and make sure he kept breathing, change his bandages, bring him food. But you'd be free, and the world would be short one more monster.

The choice ate away at you. There was the door, and right there on the table was at least a few grand in cash to get you wherever you wanted to go. The car was parked outside. Your brief adventure off the grid had gifted you all the knowledge you'd need to start over. Live your own life. But he would die. And you wouldn't have to run anymore. But he would die.

Dominic whimpered pathetically. The sound tugged at your heartstrings and immediately brought on a wave of guilt for even thinking of leaving him behind. It was like he could read your mind and continue to manipulate you in his goddamn sleep. Swiping a water bottle from the mini fridge, you returned to his side and tilted his head up to help him drink. Your fingers carded carefully through his long, sweat-matted hair and worked out the tangles. The bastard had you trapped.

He quieted at your touch, his brow unfurrowing and a look of blank content draping over his features. You let his head drop wherever it fell, which just so happened to be your lap, and slumped against the wall behind the bed. How unfair was it to be faced with a decision Dominic could make without a second thought? Nearly every day he had those same options- life or death, me or them, right, wrong, something in between. He faced it with less gravity and consideration than he gave to picking which tie to wear for the day. Just an impulsive choice and it was over. Damn your conscience, and damn _him_ for not having one.

Whether you approved of his actions or not, none of it could change the depths of your feelings for him. You held on to any hope of a decent person behind the violence and bloodshed, any glimmer of a chance that he might see you as more than a particularly useful pet. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say you loved him. And he knew it. He took advantage of it. It seemed like even now, conked out and struggling to stay alive, you could imagine that smarmy, victorious smirk on his face. The same one he always wore after winning some poor schmuck over. Which was usually the point where he'd slit their throat. When would he finally get bored and do the same to you?

You let him rest, stroking his hair as you wondered how terribly you must've sinned in a past life to suffer so much in this one.

As you predicted, it was another two days before he opened his eyes again. You spent that time checking his bandages, giving him water, watching nineties sitcoms on the fuzzy TV since that was apparently the only programming this hotel had. It was during your ninth episode of Golden Girls when you heard the soft rasp of his voice from below.

"_____...?"

Sighing, you barely spared him a glance and silently nudged a new water bottle in his direction. He struggled to twist off the cap, and when you noticed his hands shaking with effort you took it back and did it for him. After downing half the bottle, he began tentatively getting a grasp on things, probing the bandages and hissing at the sting. "What's this?"

"You don't remember?"

"No."

Tearing your eyes away from Sophia as she poured salt into a bottle of wine, you let your eyes land on his- a terrible mistake, as even clouded with pain and confusion they held the same hypnotic sway over you. "That gang leader you stole from last month? He got his revenge."

Unsurprised, Dom simply grunted and finished off the rest of his water. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere outside Toledo. Shitty hotel. Shittier town. I don't think they'll bother looking here."

"They might." He tried to push himself up in vain, his arms giving out and sending him back down. Now awake and aware, he held back any cries of pain, but the way his teeth dug into his lip suggested the gouges on his back were not helped by their impact with the mattress.

"Do you need any help with-"

" _No_. Do not touch me."

Ah, there he was. The prickly asshole you were familiar with. You gave him his space and watched him struggle to sit up, left breathless and pale by the end of it. So walking was probably out of the question. His stubborn ass would just have to deal with accepting your help. "Look, I'm not going to touch you, but I'm going to bring you some clothes that _don't_ smell like a slaughterhouse. Unless you'd rather keep those on."

"I would not."

"I figured." His suitcase lay in the corner with the rest of the things you'd grabbed before your impulsive rescue mission. You rummaged through it for something that wasn't expensive and designer, which proved difficult thanks to Dominic's fussy tastes. More digging procured a soft sweater and silk pajama pants. These you tossed back over your shoulder in his general direction.

"I'll just...stay here. Until you're done."

"Alright." There was some shuffling, grunts of exertion, a few beats of silence. "Come here."

"Are you done being naked?"

"Not quite."

"Then no."

He sighed, and the silence continued. You were shocked to hear him break it with, "Please."

Dominic? Asking politely? You never thought you'd see the day. A peek behind you showed that he got the pants on alright, but the sweater still lay crumpled on the bed. "I can't lift my arms high enough. You made these wrappings too tight."

You snorted as you strolled back over and picked up the shirt. "I'm not a doctor. I would've taken you to one, but you threatened to leap out of a car doing eighty through the woods."

He nodded despite having no recollection of this. It certainly sounded like something he'd do. "Someone might recognize me. Too much of a risk."

"So is jumping from a moving car."

"Better than life in prison."

"Is it though?" You began working the sweater over his head, trying not to feel bad when he winced in pain.

"It is. You wouldn't know, you've never been incarcerated before."

"I thought you enjoyed your time in jail?" He often told you stories of past missions, some of which involved getting arrested on purpose to kill an imprisoned target, then breaking out once he was done. The fond way he reminisced made it sound like a vacation. 

"Yes, _jail_. Not prison. Big difference."

"Such as?" The sweater was now halfway on with only one arm left to go.

"The death sentence, for starters." Despite the trust that at this point, you had no intention of hurting him, his eyes cautiously tracked your every movement.

"What ever happened to 'I'm not afraid of dying'?"

"I'm still not. I'd just be pissed to go out that way. Sitting around waiting for the poison to do its work. Fucking embarrassing."

"Because a slow death by bleeding out is _so_ much cooler." With one last tug, he was finally dressed. 

Dominic seemed relieved to have your hands off him. "Indeed. I don't suppose this place has room service?"

"Why do you- oh, yeah. I guess they didn't feed you between torture sessions, huh?" You scanned the directory sheet beside the phone until you found the right number.

"I was in the mood for some bourbon, actually."

The look you shot him would've made a lesser man flinch, but all he gave in return was an insistent stare. Your glare sharpened. "Food first, then alcohol."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten in at least three days."

"A mild inconvenience."

"Fine then, no alcohol at all." Before he could argue, you irritably punched in the front desk number and put in an order. Dominic watched sourly from the bed.

"Could I at least get a bloody cigarette? Where's my coat?"

"In the car, I think."

"Then go get it."

"Make me."

The moment those words left your mouth, you wanted to take them back. He most certainly would make you. It was far too easy. His face softened, and he allowed a touch of exhaustion to show as his shoulders slumped weakly. In seconds his defiant countenance was completely turned around, and you _knew_ it was fake, but your heart still hurt to see it. His voice took on that soft, husky quality that always sent shivers down your spine. "Come now, love. I'm not asking for much."

As always, you gave it one last shot. "You really shouldn't be smoking in this condition..."

His hand closed around your arm, tugging you down so your eyes were level with his. Mere inches away, you could see the flecks of gold in those honey brown irises, the raised skin on each cheek where old burns had ravaged his face, the slight quirk to his mouth as he enjoyed whatever he saw on yours. So close, yet far as ever. It would never happen. No matter how much he teased, you'd never feel his lips against your own, knowing how it felt to be loved by someone who was supposed to be incapable of it. Your heart seemed to freeze entirely when he leaned forward, stopping agonizingly close.

You tore yourself away before he could go any further. And there it was. The arrogant smile. He laughed, turning the redness on your cheeks into a flush of anger. You stormed through the door, down the stairs, and into the cool humidity outside. His coat was on the passenger seat of your car, the half emptied pack of cigarettes in the left hand pocket. His weathered zippo lighter, engraved with a flaming heart, was in the right. You grabbed them both and, after a moment's hesitation, lit one up for yourself. Dominic could wait a minute or two. You shouldn't be indulging him at all, but trying his patience would have to do for now.

Six months of this bullshit. Following him around like a lost puppy, eagerly accepting any scraps of sweetness he threw in your direction. But what else could you do? Your old identity was lost to the digital sands of time, erased from every database and long forgotten in the minds of anyone who loved you. Was your roommate still putting up missing person posters? Had the police dropped your case yet? Did your cat miss you at all? 

All of that was uncertain. The only thing you could be sure of was that Dominic would keep you safe and cared for. You got to see the world free of charge. He took you to the finest restaurants, and bought you clothes you never could have afforded on a legal wage. He was your only option. The cigarette burned low and threatened to singe your fingertips, so you let it drop and ground out the embers beneath your heel. As its light faded, so did any thoughts of running away, and you returned to the room to let life commence as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! If you liked it it please tell me so! And if you hated it also tell me so I know what to improve lol


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